


Brave as a Noun

by edema_ruh



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Anxious Tony Stark, Blood, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Guilt, Guilty Happy Hogan, Gunshot Wounds, Heat Stroke, Hostage Situations, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Peter, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, If you hate on Aunt May OP will silently judge you from the distance, Iron Dad, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark Friendship, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, Kidnapping, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, No one talks about their emotions when they should which is why this ended up being +100K long, PTSD Tony Stark, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Whump, Poor Peter Parker, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precious Peter Parker, Protective May Parker (Spider-Man), Protective Tony Stark, Rescue Missions, Texting, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Worried Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 04:01:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 161,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14992304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edema_ruh/pseuds/edema_ruh
Summary: Some people think that Peter is Tony's son. Why shouldn't they? Peter seems to be orbiting Tony all the time, and it's not like the billionaire tells him off. They have a nice relationship - Peter is glad to have a father figure, and Tony cares for the kid as if he's actually his son.The first problem regarding this arises when the people who think that Peter is Tony's son kidnap him for ransom.The second problem regarding this arises when one of the people who kidnaps Peter turns out to be Mac Gargan, the Scorpion, and he's hungry for revenge.





	1. Chapter 1

He leaned forwards on the front seat of the car, watching with interested attention as the boy stepped out of the Stark Industries’ New York Facility. His eyes were wide open as if not to miss any details as they followed the boy’s juvenile form stroll out of the building, a slight smile on his face as he went on. There was nothing Mac Gargan wanted more than to wipe off that stupid smile of his face.

As if sensing his foul intentions, the smile disappeared from the kid’s face and was replaced by a slight frown between his eyebrows. He stopped on his tracks for a moment and looked around, as if searching for the source of animosity that was being directed towards him. Not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to himself and accidentally ruin his plans, Mac Gargan leaned back on his seat, gesturing for the man sitting beside him on the steering wheel to do the same. Finding nothing that could potentially threat him and deciding that he was under no immediate danger, the kid resumed his walk out of the building, though he was no longer smiling as he had been just a moment before.

“This is useless, man”, the man beside Gargan said in a low voice, shaking his head as soon as the kid disappeared from their view, turning on a corner away from the Stark Industries. “We’re just wasting our time watching this kid. We should, you know, just burst in and take whatever we want as soon as Stark is out of town”, he argued, and with every word that escaped his lips, Gargan felt annoyance increasing inside him. He clenched his hands into fists beside his legs.

“Yeah? And have him fly over from wherever he is and get us both back to jail?”, Gargan scowled, scoffing at his henchman’s stupidity. “You’re a fucking idiot, that’s what you are. This kid is our ticket to being just as rich as Stark is. We won’t be needing to steal anything from the building if we can get our hands on _him_ ”, he reasoned, pointing one last disgusted look towards the man beside him and turning his head to stare out of the window.

“But why?”, the henchman asked, clearly confused. “I don’t get it. He’s just an intern, or something. Why would Tony Stark want to pay to get him back?”

Gargan sighed deeply and leant his forehead on the cool surface of the window, doing his best not to snap right then and there. At first, when this stupid guy whose name he couldn’t care to remember was first assigned to drive him around and stand watch with him, he was disappointed, but not exactly mad. Now, after weeks of following the same routine of following the kid around the city, Gargan was getting tired of the man’s constant questioning and blabbering. He had never been a fan of being second-guessed, but this guy was really getting on his nerves.

“Just _trust_ me on this. I know what I’m doing”, he said simply, through gritted teeth, for what felt like the thousandth time. The cold glass of the window was making the scar on his face sting.

“Nah, I don’t know, man”, the henchman shrugged, oblivious to Gargan’s obvious growing anger as he started the car and drove into the road. “You’ve been all talk for weeks now, having me drive over and stand watch here for that whatshisname. You said we’d hit the biggest score of our lives, but it’s been almost a month and I see no money”.

Thankfully for the both of them, the car had just halted because of a stop sign, otherwise, they would most likely have been involved in an accident. Gargan fisted the front of the henchman’s shirt and pulled him close to his face with the utmost fury, making sure that he could tell, from the menacing look in his eyes and the vicious snarl on his face, that he was not fooling around.

“You trying to second guess me?!”, he asked, not wavering on his tight grip to the man’s shirt. “You think I was lying about the money?”, he insisted, but the man provided no response, merely staring at him with wide, surprised eyes. He hesitantly shook his head, trembling hands raised as if to show Gargan he meant no harm. “Yeah, I thought not”, he scoffed, letting go of the man’s shirt and pushing against his seat at the same time as the car behind them started to honk. The henchman turned the key of the car with his shaking hand and started it, going back to driving.

They stayed in silence for what felt like an eternity, the henchman’s knuckles white from his tight grip on the steering wheel and Gargan going back to leaning his forehead on the window. He opened and closed his hands into fists several times as if to regain his composure.

“If you’re so unhappy about the deal, you can talk to Toomes about it. You want that?”, he spat venomously, managing to sound sarcastic. Had he bothered to look at the driver as he said the words, he would have noticed how the man’s face went pale at the mention of Toomes’ name. instead, Gargan stared at his own knuckles as he continued to open and close his hands.

“N-no, no, of course not, I’m good”, he stuttered, nervous. He spared several nervous glances at Gargan while he drove, but the Scorpion payed him no attention, too focused on his own hands. In fact, he was purposefully ignoring the driver in one last attempt at allowing the man redeem himself for his obnoxiousness by being quiet for once in his life. However, the chance went to waste as the man added: “I mean, look, sorry, I didn’t mean no disrespect, ok? I was just curious, that’s all. I just don’t get what’s so special about the kid”.

Gargan took a deep breath as if to calm himself, closing his eyes for a few seconds before reopening, the same impassive, menacing look lingering on his face. He tapped a random rhythm on the door of the car, lost in thought. He was silent for an uncomfortably long time, looking like he was lost in thought trying to decide whether he should actually explain himself or not.

“The kid is important to Stark”, he ended up saying, sounding more patient than he had before. “He doesn’t hang out _just_ at Stark Industries. He’s all over Stark all the time, wherever he is at. They go out together; Stark drives him wherever he wants, picks him up from school, and gives him stuff all the time. There’s only one explanation to why a billionaire like him would pay attention to a nobody from Queens like that”.

The driver’s eyes widened in shock as he connected the dots and he stared at Gargan for a couple of seconds, before averting his gaze back towards the road.

“Holy shit, really?”, he asked, clearly astounded. “He’s his _son_? Fuck. That explains _a lot._ That’s a fucking jackpot right there, Gargan!”

“Yeah, tell me about it”, Gargan said in a monotonous, uninterested tone. “He’s probably Stark’s bastard kid or something. And he clearly cares about him, if he lets him hang out with him all the time”.

“If we get this kid, we’re gonna be set for life. Set for life, man!”, the driver exclaimed, excited, tapping both hands against the steering wheel. Gargan scoffed again, but there was a smirk on his face. The rest of the ride was silent, as the henchman was finally satisfied with the answer to his incessant questions and Gargan finally had a break from having to deal with the insistent questionings.

The Scorpion unfastened his seatbelt as the car was pulled over in front of the building where they were hiding for the moment. Since he had escaped from prison, he couldn’t exactly return to his own apartment or get in touch with anyone from his family without compromising himself, and Toomes had seen it that he stayed at this abandoned place in Queens until they finalized the plan to kidnap Stark’s kid. Three other men, other than Gargan and the driver, were involved in the plan, which was being overseen by Toomes from prison.

The henchman made to open the door and leave the car, but Gargan halted him by holding a gentle hand to his elbow, calling his attention. The man sent him a quizzical look, but shuffled on his seat so that he could look at the other face to face.

“Like I said, the kid is important to Stark”, Gargan said calmly, pulling the cuffs of his hoodie up to his elbows in a nonchalant way. “Which means he’s important to me”, he shrugged matter-of-factly.

“Sure, of course, man”, the henchman said, just a bit hesitantly. The hint of a frown was beginning to appear between his eyebrows, but he kept up a confident façade.

“We can’t afford that word about Stark’s son gets to the streets”, Gargan continued, mindfully tending to the sleeves of his shirt until they were neatly pulled up as high as they would go. He eyed the henchman with a silently inquiring look. “You know how it is. Toomes and I don’t really like to deal with competition”, he shrugged, giving the man a small smirk.

“No, no, no, you can trust me”, the man promised, once again raising his hands in a defensive gesture. “You don’t need to worry about me, I won’t tell anyone. I’ll be dead silent”, he assured, hesitantly mimicking Gargan’s smile.

“Yeah”, Gargan sighed, staring pensively at the dashboard in front of him for a few moments and nodding to himself in a barely perceptible way. “I know you will”.

Then Gargan pulled out the knife he kept by his waist in a swift movement, and stabbed the man in the neck.

There was more shock than resistance of his part, and the man pitifully tried to grab at the knife jammed into his throat for the seconds that it took for him to die, attempting to pull it off without success. A spray of hot, fresh blood hit Gargan on the face as he watched his former henchmen gurgle and splutter, choking, until he went very still on his seat, hand dropping limply to his side and eyes wide open staring at nothing. The Scorpion made no move to clean the blood off his face as he removed the knife from the body and cleaned it on the hem of the dead man’s shirt, before placing it back on knife holster by his hip.

“Hope it was worth it, asking so many annoying fucking questions”, he told the corpse with a displeased scoff before opening his door and stepping out of the car.

 

 

 

 

**From: Tony Stark**

Hey, kid

**From: Tony Stark**

So

**From: Tony Stark**

I know you were supposed to come over again today so we can keep working on the suit and all

**From: Tony Stark**

But something sort of came up and I’ll need to fly all the way to Hong Kong this evening

**From: Tony Stark**

You want to come?

**From: Tony Stark**

They have free shrimp on the plane

**From: Tony Stark**

By they I mean me, because it’s my plane

 

Peter stared at the texts with disbelief for a while before mustering a response.

 

**From: Peter Parker**

Mr. Stark I have a physics quiz tomorrow

 

**From: Tony Stark**

So?

 

**From: Peter Parker**

So…? I can’t go to Hong Kong this evening…?

 

**From: Tony Stark**

I’m rolling my eyes at you right now. You’re such a loser, Parker.

**From: Tony Stark**

Just kidding, kid. You’re right, stay in school and all of that.

**From: Tony Stark**

So. Suit trial #47 is officially postponed until further notice, ok?

 

**From: Peter Parker**

Sure, no problem, Mr. Stark

**From: Peter Parker**

Have a fun time in Hong Kong!!

**From: Peter Parker**

Save some shrimp for me if you can

 

**From: Tony Stark**

You lost your chance to get your hands on the shrimp. It’s too late.

 

**From: Peter Parker**

:-(

 

**From: Tony Stark**

What have I told you about putting noses on your smiley faces? That’s not how teenagers are supposed to text.

 

**From: Peter Parker**

But you said I couldn’t use emojis

**From: Peter Parker**

So how are the faces supposed to have personality :-(

 

**From: Tony Stark**

They aren’t

**From: Tony Stark**

That’s the point

 

**From: Peter Parker**

Okay :^(

 

**From: Tony Stark**

That’s the most hideous thing I was ever forced to look at

 

**From: Peter Parker**

Will you be gone too long?

 

**From: Tony Stark**

Are you missing me already, kid? I didn’t even leave yet.

 

**From: Peter Parker**

Just wanted to know when we’ll be able to keep working on the suit

**From: Peter Parker**

I had some new ideas that I think you’d like

**From: Peter Parker**

But I need to test them out first before applying them to the suit because I’m not sure they’d work

 

**From: Tony Stark**

I’ll only be gone for a couple of days but, if you want, you can stop by at the workshop and do your thing while I’m away. Mi casa es su casa

**From: Tony Stark**

Just don’t make a mess

**From: Tony Stark**

And definitely don’t overwork yourself

**From: Tony Stark**

And Stay. Away. From. DUM-E.

**From: Tony Stark**

You two were NOT designed to be in the same room together.

 

**From: Peter Parker**

Is this still about the fire extinguisher incident from last week?

**From: Peter Parker**

Because that was hardly my fault, Mr. Stark :^(

**From: Peter Parker**

And I already said I’m sorry :^(

**From: Peter Parker**

And I’m sure that so is DUM-E :^(

 

**From: Tony Stark**

I’ll block you if you keep putting those noses on the faces.

**From: Tony Stark**

Anyway, I gotta go now, but if you’re so desperate to work on the suit, talk to Hap and he’ll give you a ride to the SI headquarters

 

**From: Peter Parker**

But Happy never answers my texts

 

**From: Tony Stark**

Just ask him nicely and he will. He likes playing hard to get.

**From: Tony Stark**

Maybe if you call him by his first name he’ll comply more quickly

 

**From: Peter Parker**

Which is…?

 

**From: Tony Stark**

Harold

 

**From: Peter Parker**

That doesn’t sound like a good idea

 

**From: Tony Stark**

Are you saying I’m lying?

 

**From: Peter Parker**

Of course not, Mr. Stark ;^)

 

**From: Tony Stark**

Ok, I’m going now. Keep those hideous noses away from my phone

 

**From: Peter Parker**

Have a safe trip!!

 

Peter put his phone down, only the slightest bit of disappointment sitting heavy inside his chest. The only thing he looked forwards more than his patrols as Spider-Man, were his private mentoring sessions with Tony in the man’s workshop. Of course, being a superhero was probably the coolest thing that had ever happened to Peter in his entire life, but he had been a Tony Stark fan ever since he was a little child. And now he not only got to work alongside with his idol on the _suits he wore to fight off crime_ , but he also had Tony Stark’s personal phone number, which he could text whenever he wanted. Sometimes, the whole thing was so surreal for Peter that he had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

Of course, Tony didn’t give Peter his number overnight. Their relationship – as much as Peter wasn’t fond of calling it _that_ – had taken some time to develop and get to the point where they were now. But after the (disastrous) events with the Vulture, and after the attempt to make Peter become an Avenger, Tony had given the boy his personal number so that he could get in touch with the billionaire in case of an emergency. “ _Only_ in case of an emergency”, Tony had said, giving Peter his characteristic eye-roll and a dismissive look.

Peter had been so afraid of texting Tony that he ended up never doing so, too scared that he’d end up crossing an invisible, unspoken line and piss the billionaire off for good. It was one thing to spam Happy with texts and voicemails – he had been explicitly given permission to do just that –, but spamming _Tony Stark_ was an entirely different matter. What if Peter was too annoying and Tony decided to cut him off from his life completely? What if he forced a sense with intimacy with Tony that the man did not reciprocate? What if he ended up making a fool of himself? Peter couldn’t risk that. He was lucky enough that Tony Stark simply acknowledged his existence; he wasn’t about to ruin everything just because of a text message.

This, of course, could only result in disaster, since _several_ emergencies arose and Peter warned Tony of none of them, afraid to sound too much like a whiny kid or to overstep a line. It was only at one time, when Tony received a warning from Friday saying that Peter was severely injured in the middle of Manhattan because he refused to call Iron Man for help, that they finally, _finally_ talked about the limits of text-messaging. And even though Tony never downright spoke the words out loud, Peter knew that the billionaire only began to text him so often so that Peter would feel more comfortable talking to him and asking for help when he needed.

Which. He still never did. Because he was Spider-Man, and he had superpowers, and he could take care of himself, right? He didn’t need to call Tony like a scared, wimpy child every time something went slightly south. He could handle things on his own. But it was still nice, being able to text Tony and talk to him without all the previous formalities they used in the past.

Tony was no idiot, and neither was Peter. They could read in-between each other’s lines, and as much as Tony could tell that Peter needed a little incentive at feeling confident enough to talk to him, Peter could also tell that there was a lot that Tony felt, but didn’t say. He had felt confused about Tony’s intentions at first – what could he possibly want from Peter? Just Spider-Man’s assistance? Just _Peter_ ’s assistance? Why had he made him a multimillion-dollar suit? Why did he constantly check on Peter? Why did he seem to care so much? –, until he finally became able to read most of the apparently meaningless signs Tony always gave off. And yes, it took a lot of time, and confidence, and a complicated process of getting-to-know-each-other-without-being-too-awkward-about-it before Peter finally acknowledged that Tony _cared_ about him, _Peter_ –  not just Spider-Man –, but he eventually got there. Tony had to give him his personal number _and_ invite him to come over for private lessons at the workshop for Peter to realize that he, indeed, liked him beyond Spider-Man, but he eventually got that. And the first thing Peter felt once he finally realized this was _relief_ , because he cared a lot about Tony, too.

Peter never had a father. The closest thing he had to one had been Uncle Ben, and he died because of him. His own stupidity had cost him the only father figure he had ever had in his life, and sure, Aunt May was great and he loved her more than anything in the world, but it was nice to have someone acting as a father to him again after he so tragically lost both of his previous ones. Not that Tony – or Peter himself, for that matter – would _ever_ admit that he thought of Tony as a kind of surrogate father aloud; nevertheless, it was the truth. None of them ever spoke to each other about it – conversations with Rhodey, Happy or Ned didn’t count –, and they didn’t intend to, because there was no need to talk about something that was so clearly there. The way Tony mentored Peter and taught him about all kinds of different things regarding mechanics; the way Peter grew comfortable enough to tell Tony about how his days at school were; the way they both seemed to rely on each other more often than not in the short span of time during which they grew closer to each other – all of that screamed father-son relationship. Tony ignored Rhodey’s teasing about it, and Peter ignored Ned’s. But despite of Peter’s insistence at calling Tony “Mr. Stark”, save for extremely rare exceptions, everyone else could see that there was a special bond forming between the billionaire and the webhead, whether they would bother to put a label on it or not.

It took Peter a while to feel comfortable enough to text Tony as a friend, rather than a boss, but now that he got there, there was no stopping him. And even though he was a bit disappointed that he wouldn’t get to work alongside Tony on the new update to his suit for a while, as he had planned all weekend, he was still glad that the billionaire had allowed him to use his workshop while he was gone. Peter would never had the courage to actually ask Tony to use the workshop in his absence – there were still some subjects that he wasn’t sure how to approach without feeling like he was being too much, or overstepping –, so Tony’s apparent ability to read his needs and comply to them before Peter had to say them out loud came in handy this time. He decided to text Happy during his break, to see if the man could give him a ride to the Stark Industries headquarters after he was done with his patrols.

“Peter!”, May called after him as the boy rushed out of his bedroom, already fully-clothed and heading to the front door. He stopped on his tracks at his aunt’s call, turning on his heels to look at her. She had a raised eyebrow pointed at him. “You didn’t eat your breakfast”, she said matter-of-factly, tilting her head to the side in an inquisitive way. Peter hesitated for just a moment, realizing his mistake. He had been so distracted and excited by the idea of being at Tony’s workshop all by himself, working on his _suit_ , that everything else seemed sort of… unimportant.

“Yes, sorry, May, I totally forgot”, Peter shook his head, smiling and walking over to the kitchen counter, where an apple and a waffle were waiting for him.

“You’ve been so distracted, recently”, May commented with curiosity and a hint of concern in her tone, walking into the kitchen and running her fingers through Peter’s hair, trying to straighten the ruffled curls. “If that Stark internship gets too much –“

“I know”, Peter nodded with a mouthful, before she could continue.

“If it gets too much”, she continued anyway, voice firmer. “I want you to tell me. Ok? You don’t need to overwork yourself because of _one_ internship. You’re a smart boy, and there are lots of other opportunities for you out there, all right?”, he told him, and the reassuring tone in her voice was the only thing that kept Peter from being mad at her suggestion.

“Not with Mr. Stark, though”, Peter pointed out with a shrug. Aunt May sighed, taking the seat beside him.

“Not with Mr. Stark”, she nodded, though there was a slightly displeased look on her face. “You really like him, don’t you?”, she gave him a soft smile. Peter felt himself blush, but nodded all the same. “Ever since you were a little boy”, she continued, pensive, staring at the distance. “Going around with that silly Iron Man costume I made you”, she gave a tiny chuckle before sighing and turning back to Peter. “Still, Stark fan or not, I don’t want you to bite more than you can chew, all right?”, she added, brushing her thumb on the corner of Peter’s mouth to rinse the piece of waffle that was there after he took a hushed mouthful. The boy gave his aunt an affectionate smile.

“Don’t worry about it, May”, Peter said, as reassuringly as he could. He set his empty plate in the sink and grabbed his half-eaten apple to finish on his way to school.

“I’m always worried about you”, May scoffed matter-of-factly. “That’s my job”.

“And you’re amazing at it”, Peter complimented, dropping a noisy, purposefully wet kiss against his aunt’s cheek. She pretended not to like the overly-moist kiss, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand and cleaning it on the front of Peter's shirt, making the boy let out a fake-disgusted 'ewww!', but she smiled and placed a kiss of her own on the top of Peter’s head. “I gotta go, now, I’m already late for school. See you later?”

“Yeah, see you later. Be careful!”, she shouted after him as he grabbed his backpack and headed to the front door in a hurry. “Oh, and Peter!”, she added just as the boy grabbed the doorknob.

“Yeah?”, Peter asked, turning his head towards her in anticipation.

“Keep your phone close. I don’t want to call you forty times in a row because you kept it on mute or forgot to check it. Okay?”, she raised an intimidating eyebrow at him.

“Okay”, Peter nodded, throwing the backpack over his shoulder and opening the door of the apartment.

“Love you”, May shouted over his shoulder.

“Love you too”, Peter shouted back with a smile, before closing the door behind him.

 

 

 

 

**From: Peter Parker**

Hey, Harold, can you pick me up today?

 

**From: Happy Hogan**

What the hell

**From: Happy Hogan**

Who is this?

 

**From: Peter Parker**

It’s Peter

**From: Peter Parker**

Wait, don’t you have my number on your contact list?

 

**From: Happy Hogan**

Peter who?

 

**From: Peter Parker**

Peter Parker

**From: Peter Parker**

You really don’t have my number??

 

**From: Happy Hogan**

Why the hell are you calling me Harold?

 

**From: Peter Parker**

Mr. Stark told me it would make it easier to convince you to give me a ride if I called you by your first name

**From: Peter Parker**

Which… I can now tell was probably a lie

**From: Peter Parker**

Oh my god Mr. Happy I’m so sorry

**From: Peter Parker**

I should have known he was messing with me

 

**From: Happy Hogan**

First of all kid if you want to call me mr then it should be Mr. Hogan, not Mr. Happy

**From: Happy Hogan**

Happy is not even my name

**From: Happy Hogan**

And about that, since Tony messed with you, ask him for a ride

**From: Happy Hogan**

I’m busy

 

**From: Peter Parker**

He’s gone to Hong Kong for a few days :/

**From: Peter Parker**

Sorry for calling you Harold

**From: Peter Parker**

I really didn’t know

**From: Peter Parker**

Are you mad at me for calling you Harold?

**From: Peter Parker**

I’m sorry Mr. Hogan

 

**From: Happy Hogan**

Can you stop spamming me I’m trying to work

 

**From: Peter Parker**

But can you give me a ride?

 

**From: Happy Hogan**

No

 

**From: Peter Parker**

Is it because I called you Harold?

**From: Peter Parker**

I’m sorry

 

**From: Happy Hogan**

Kid I’m busy.

 

**From: Peter Parker**

Ok Mr. Happy I’m sorry for spamming you

**From: Peter Parker**

Mr. Hogan *

**From: Peter Parker**

It was the autocorrect

 

**From: Happy Hogan**

No it wasn’t.

 

 

Peter set his phone down on the table, sighing in defeat and finishing his meal with a melancholic bite. He didn’t really mind walking all the way over to the Stark Industries – it was a bit far from his apartment, but not _that_ far. Plus, the New York base was basically Tony’s home – most of the upper floors were restricted to his personal use only, and just a few people, such as Pepper, Rhodey, and Peter, had clearance to reach those floors. But still, Peter was a bit tired from staying up so late on the night before because of his patrols as Spider-Man and, despite of everything, he enjoyed talking to Happy, even if the man usually didn’t usually offer much beyond grumpy responses to his overly-excited comments. Getting a ride to the SI wouldn’t go amiss, but he didn’t want to have to _beg_ for it, or to bother Happy about it. In reality, he didn’t want to sound like he needed help at all.

He decided he would have to walk over to the SI, or maybe web-sling himself all the way there. He was tired, but not terribly so – he could get his patrols done earlier and go work on his suit afterwards. Mr. Stark was gone all the way to Hong Kong – he surely wouldn’t mind if Peter changed their usual meeting-in-the-workshop schedule. If anything, Mr. Stark would most probably _not_ be paying any attention to him at all, too busy with meetings and contracts and deals.

Yeah, that sounded like a plan. Maybe he didn’t even need to take too long at the workshop – even though it was exciting to be there alone, and to _work_ there alone, the best part about going over to SI was working with _Tony_ , and not by himself. He decided he would just run some basic tests to confirm if his hypothesis for the suit’s improvement was right, and then he would call it a day and return home to Aunt May. Maybe he could even go to bed early, for a change, and finally get some proper rest after weeks of late nights.

The thought pleased him and he decided to stick to that plan. The thought of getting home early and finally getting some sleep made him excited, and in a rush of optimism, he decided to push his luck just a little bit further.

 

**From: Peter Parker**

Can you maybe give me a ride back from the SI, then?

 

The reply he received half an hour later told him everything he needed to know.

 

**From: Happy Hogan**

Kid I swear to god

 

He decided to leave the matter alone.

 

 

 

 

 

Even though Peter was an exceptionally smart kid, he was also exceptionally stupid sometimes.

Because he really convinced himself that he would be able to just stay at the workshop for a little bit, and not only that, but he _also_ convinced himself that he would actually be able to go home early and call it a night.

He ended up spending almost ten hours straight inside the workshop, drowning in all the technology that was available for him at the very tip of his fingers. Tony’s comment about him not making a mess had been entirely sarcastic – the workshop was already very messy on its own –, but there was something about the unruliness of the place that made it feel cozier than Peter found most places to be. This could probably have to do with the fact that the walls had been made sound-proof, which came in very handy for Peter, since it helped him avoid sensory overload and allowed him to focus better on the tasks he wanted to accomplish. Peter never really got to know if Tony had made the walls soundproof because of him, or because of other unknown reasons, but he never found in himself the courage necessary to ask the billionaire about it.

Once he stepped out of the building, his shoulders and arms were sore from working so long on his suit, and he was feeling more exhausted than ever, eyes tingling from sleepiness and limbs heavy from tiredness. The fact that most of his senses got used to the lack of stimuli he endured for so many hours inside the specially designed room probably played a major role on the throbbing headache he immediately developed as soon as he stepped out of the Stark Industries facility. Everything was too loud and too overwhelming all of a sudden, and Peter wanted nothing more than to just get home and rest for a bit.

Now Peter knew why Mr. Stark always oversaw him whenever he went over to the SI – he was probably aware that Peter, being the way he was, was bound to overwork himself as soon as he was left unsupervised inside a multimillion-dollar workshop. Peter wished he could have proven Tony wrong, but he hadn’t even been aware of how many hours he spent inside the place until Friday kindly suggested for him to leave before she was forced to call Mr. Stark. It was only after the rush of excitement from working on his suit wore off that Peter realized how absolutely in need of sleep he was.

Maybe, if he hadn’t been so tired, he would have realized sooner. Maybe, if his senses hadn’t been dulled for so long by the anti-sensorial walls of the workshop, he would have noticed something faster. Or maybe, if Happy had agreed to give him a ride, none of this would have happened at all.

But it did.

It took Peter’s spider-senses a lot longer than they should have to warn him of the incoming danger, and when the boy finally caught up with the indisputable fact that _there was something very wrong_ , it was already too late. Someone kicked his knees from behind and there was a pair of rough hands grabbing him, holding him, trapping his arms beside his body and covering his face with something that smelled horrible and that made his eyesight immediately go grey and blurry. _I need to grab my webshooter_ , was his first-response thought, but to his horror, the last thing he realized before his consciousness sunk to the farthest ends of his brain was that, in his rush to leave the SI and just get back home already, he had left the Spider-Man suit and his webshooters behind at the workshop. Everything happened too fast for him to react, and his strength was seeping off him at the same time as he involuntarily inhaled the substance covering his nose.

Peter managed to hit the person holding him from behind with an elbow, releasing the grip on his arms and allowing him to tumble forwards, desperately trying to get away even though he couldn’t really see where he was going. He took in a deep breath of fresh air, head spinning and eyes glassy, tripping on his own feet several times over as he attempted to escape. Before he could get too far, however, another pair of arms grabbed him, holding him in a tight chokehold, and Peter, weakened by the previous assault, was unable to fight them off. In no time, another cloth was shoved at his face, the substance burning its way up his nostrils and making his eyes tingle. He desperately scratched at the arm pressing down on his neck, trying to release the grasp and _breathe_ , but he couldn’t, and there were black and white dots covering his vision, and not even his enhanced metabolism could keep burning through the drug being forced into his system.

His arms went limp and his eyes rolled to the back of his head as his body flopped backwards, falling and falling and falling for an eternity of empty darkness.

 

 

 

 

 

“This better be an emergency, kid, because I stepped out of a very important meeting just to answer this call”, Tony said as soon as he picked up the phone. He had been bored out of his mind during the meeting and was looking forward to finally receiving one of Peter’s teasing texts, as it was usual to happen after the kid finished his patrols. However, no text came during the course of the day, and even though Tony wasn’t exactly a fan of phone calls, he was glad that Peter had at least reached out to him in _some_ way, because he was beginning to get worried about his ~~son~~ protégé’s unusually prolonged radio silence. The fact that he had been already looking for an excuse to escape the meeting made Peter’s phone call kill two birds with one stone, but he still felt the need to put up his “I’m-a-billionaire-who-does-important-things-so-don’t-call-me-unless-it’s-urgent” façade up to the kid, as he always did.

He was definitely not expecting a foreign, malicious voice to speak up, instead of Peter’s.

“Stark”, the voice snarled, and Tony could sense the rage with which his name was spat out. All the hairs in his body stood up in immediate repulse and his heartrate doubled pace, breath catching in his throat as anxiety immediately ran through his veins.

“Who is this? Where’s Peter?”, he blurted out, voice losing all its previous lightheartedness and taking up a sternness that he definitely didn’t feel.

“Peter’s fine”, the voice mocked, and the sound made a shiver run down Tony’s spine. His hand was gripping the phone with such strength that he was almost sure he would end up damaging the screen. “ _For now_ ”, the voice added maliciously. “If you want him to stay that way, you’ll do what I tell you”.

“I thought I had made pretty clear that I make no deals with terrorists, especially after one of you blew up my house”, Tony said, bluffing, because he didn’t know who this person was or what he wanted or what he knew about Peter’s secret identity. Oh, _god_. He needed to stay calm. He needed to keep his head leveled. He needed – he needed – _air_ – and Peter to be safe –

“I’m no terrorist, so I think you’ll find it easy on your consciousness to make a deal with me. Especially when your son’s life is involved in the trade”, the man teased. Tony’s heart leaped in his chest at the words, and he could practically picture the disgusting, evil smile on the man’s lips as he spoke the words.

“My _what_?”, he couldn’t help but to blurt, sincerely taken aback by the statement. Someone had kidnapped Peter because they thought he was _Tony’s son_?

Oh my god. This was his fault. He had brought this upon Peter. He should have never gotten close – but if they thought he was his son, then that meant they didn’t know he was Spider-Man, right? –, he should have kept his distance and kept the kid from harm – maybe if they didn’t know about the kid’s identity, then Tony could find a way to get him out of this mess unharmed –, he should have never dragged Peter into his life _at all_. There were a thousand thoughts rushing through his head all at the same time and Tony could focus on none of them, because Peter had been captured and Peter could be hurt and Peter was in danger and it was _all his fault_. Guilt was settling itself heavy inside his chest, making it even more difficult to breathe.

“Don’t play games with me, Stark”, the voice snarled from the other end of the call. “I can be a lot of things, but I ain’t stupid. I know he’s your kid, and if you don’t want my finger to pull the trigger of the gun that’s glued to his forehead right now, you’ll do what I tell you to do. We clear?”

“How much do you want?”, Tony asked through gritted teeth, neither confirming nor denying that Peter was his son. If he confirmed, the man would probably want to take advantage and explore his leverage even further; if he denied, the man could decide that Peter wasn’t worth anything and dispose of him with a bullet to the head. Tony was well-aware of how strong and capable Peter was, but he had no idea what these people had done to the kid or what state he was in. He didn’t even know if Peter was conscious or not, for god’s sake. He felt as if he was about to have a heart attack.

“No need to rush things”, the man answered, sarcastically. “You can take your time to think this through. I sure as hell am going to take _my_ time. But I’ll keep in touch with you, don’t worry”, he laughed. The sound made Tony want to puke. “For now, I’ll just send you a few little treats so you decide how much Pete is worth to you”.

Before Tony could object or say anything else, the line went dead. He still held the silent phone to his ear with a tight grip and frozen limbs for what felt like an eternity, eyes wide and staring at nothing, until the device vibrated with a series of incoming text messages.

Lowering his phone down to eye-level with a shaking hand, Tony saw that right below Peter’s last text telling him to have a safe trip, five photos had been sent by his number. Tony’s trembling thumb hovered above the screen, trying to convince himself to open the files and finally get some eyes on what the hell was happening to the kid. This had to happen _right_ when he was halfway across the globe; incapable of stepping in and helping Peter. Of _course_ this had to happen.

The pictures showed a pale Peter slumped over a chair from several different angles, head dropped low and limp above his chest and seemingly unconscious. His hair was ruffled and unkempt, his clothes were dirty and torn as if from fighting, and there was a small cut on the bridge of his nose. He didn’t seem to be in pain or severely injured, but he was definitely unconscious – they had probably used chloroform or something alike to capture him. His hands were tied behind the backrest and his ankles were bound to the legs of the chair, but Tony knew that Peter could break free of his bindings without batting an eye as soon as he woke up. Still, he couldn’t risk waiting for the kid to break himself free. He _had_ to do something.

He was already marching his way out of the building without bidding farewell to the people in the reunion as he finished looking through the pictures, putting on his glasses so that he could talk to Friday and locking his phone screen without closing Peter’s chat.

“Friday, track Peter’s phone”, Tony instructed with a trembling voice that he tried his best to maintain firm, telling himself that there was no use in freaking out. That didn’t really stop his hands from shaking or his heart from racing, but he kept repeating the mantra in his head all the same. “Track the call and run a voice recognition to find out who this guy is. Analyze the photos he sent and find everything you can about Peter’s location. Also, get my jet ready to take off immediately – I’m on the way to the airport. Warn Rhodey of what has happened, and try to get in touch with Karen to run through Peter’s last location. I don’t know how he was captured, or if these guys even know about Spider-Man. Go through every security camera you can find that may have captured what happened to Peter while you’re at it. Chop-chop”, he urged, stepping inside his car and not even fastening his seatbelt as he took off, racing to the airport way above the speed limit. He couldn’t remember the last time he had ever given an A.I. so many orders at the same time, but he was sure that he had rarely ever been so stressed out in his entire life. Peter had been kidnapped. Because someone thought he was Tony’s soon. Peter had been kidnapped. Because he was Tony’s son.

_Peter had been kidnapped._

Because of _him_.

“Right away, boss”, his A.I. replied, immediately getting to work. “Your heartrate is dangerously elevated”, she added. “It would be advisable to resume all driving activities and take your medicine right away”. Tony scoffed at the suggestion.

“Just make sure the plane is there and ready to leave when I arrive”, he replied simply, eyes fixed on the road and hands tight on the steering wheel. “Also, tell Pepper I’m sorry for leaving the meeting like that. Explain what happened to her, but don’t be too graphic; you know how worried she gets. Just”, he shook his head, taking a deep breath to try and calm himself as well as he could in the situation. “Just find Peter for me. Ok?”, he asked, hating how desperate he ended up sounding.

“Working on it”, Friday said simply, going back to obeying Tony’s orders.

By the time Tony arrived at the airport and took off on his jet – the Iron Man suit wouldn’t have enough energy to fly him all the way back to the US, even though it would have probably gotten him there a lot faster –, Friday informed him that Peter’s phone had been dumped in a river. The last footage available of him showed him leaving the Stark Industries by foot and alone at late night, and all security cameras from the streets Peter usually walked through to get back home had been either wiped off or frozen. The voice recognition had found a match to the person who had spoken to Tony – a MacDonald “Mac” Gargan, who had recently escaped from prison and who had been arrested, in the first place, for his involvement in the ferry disaster. Peter’s suit was back at the workshop and, because of this, his captors were unlikely to be aware of his secret identity, which was a miracle – if Mac Gargan found out Peter was actually Spider-Man – the very responsible for getting him arrested _and_ for putting that ugly scar on his face – he would most definitely kill the kid, the ransom be damned. It was crucial that Peter _did not_ reveal his identity, because even though Tony knew the kid was more than capable of fighting a couple of evil thugs off, he had no idea what _these people_ were capable of, especially if they found out Peter was their number one enemy. Furthermore, Peter could be drugged or disoriented and incapable of defending himself, Tony couldn’t tell for sure – and he would never, _ever_ risk the kid’s safety – or the kid’s _life_ – because of an assumption, or because he _guessed_ that Peter could figure things out on his own. He needed to get back and help him, and he needed to do so _quickly_.

It took almost an entire day for Gargan to get in touch again, this time from a burn phone, and the anxiety of waiting was killing Tony inside bit by bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy this! I love to explore the Tony-Peter father-son dynamics from the MCU and I've been dying to write something in which Peter is mistaken for Tony's son.  
> Please (pretty please?) leave kudos if you liked this and comments, however small, always make my day! I'm always open to constructive criticism as well. If you didn't like something about this story, or think that I could improve somehow, let me know!  
> You can always find me on tumblr as edema--ruh and on twitter as @turbofitzs.


	2. Chapter 2

When Peter woke up, the world around him was spinning and nothing made sense.

The first thing he realized was that his senses were more overwhelmed than usual – his eyesight was too blurry for him to focus on anything, there was a constant high-pitched sound in his ears and his skin was tingling and aching, especially around the wrists. He couldn’t tell how much time he spent trying to clear his vision by blinking his eyes with more strength than necessary, but it felt like hours. Once he was able to make sense of his surroundings, the memories of what had happened invaded his mind in a rush.

Looking around with the little mobility he had, Peter realized that he was tied to a chair inside a place that looked like an abandoned warehouse. There were piles of large boxes all around him and equipment that looked like running machines. Maybe the place was an abandoned factory – he couldn’t tell for sure. There wasn’t much in his line of sight other than the boxes, the machines, and a large, tall metal door that didn’t look like it was the exit.

Peter continued to blink, trying to remember how he got to that place and failing to do so. His last memory consisted of being held in a chokehold and breathing in something foul, and everything that happened after that was a mystery to him. Desperate to release himself from his bindings but afraid that he would end up calling unnecessary attention to himself, Peter began to struggle against the ropes tying his wrists behind his back. The material was strong, but Peter was stronger – it would probably take him mere seconds to snap the rope in two and free himself. He just needed to clear his head a bit more – everything was still too fuzzy and he felt dizzy.

As if reading his thoughts – or, the more plausible alternative: as if surveilling him –, someone entered the room, followed by two loud pairs of footsteps that echoed across the abandoned factory in a way that assaulted Peter’s over-sensitive hearing. The boy cursed himself for not being able to pay attention to his surroundings and having failed to sense the men’s entrance, but in his defense, his spider-senses were still very affected and in dire need of a recalibration, probably due to whatever drug these thugs had used to knock him down.

Peter was well aware of his own strength – even if he was still disoriented because of the drug ( _probably chloroform_ , he figured), and even if his senses were uncomfortably overloaded, he could still take down three guys without breaking a sweat, now that he _knew_ he was in danger. It had been one thing to be attacked and subdued in the middle of street while he was tired, sleepy and distracted – it would be another situation entirely to fight back while prepared. All he needed to do was to snap the rope and free his legs; then he would be able to kick the asses of whoever-these-guys-were and get the hell out of this factory place. He could only imagine how worried May would be feeling – he had no idea if he had been unconscious for minutes or for hours, and he couldn’t feel his phone anywhere near him.

He started to struggle against the rope binding his wrists as discreetly as he could, mindful not to call the attention of his captors. However, his attempts to free himself halted to an end as soon as a (terrifyingly) familiar face stepped into his line of sight. It was that man from the ferry, who had been dealing with Toomes and who was arrested by the FBI – Mac Gargan.

Peter’s breath caught in his throat as soon as he faced the man, who had two henchmen standing behind him with ready hands above their weapons. The boy’s eyes widened as he faced the Scorpion, noticing, with a stab of guilt, the large scar covering half of his face. That scar hadn’t been there before the ferry disaster, Peter figured, and his stomach dropped at the prospect that Mac Gargan had figured out his secret identity and was seeking revenge.

However, unaware of Peter’s ponderations, Gargan simply crouched down in front of Peter so that they could be on the same eye-level, a sickening smirk spread on his lips. Peter swallowed dry, allowing his hands to go slack in their bonds for the time being. He couldn’t make any rushed decisions such as bursting out of his bindings, at least not until he figured out whether or not Gargan knew about his secret identity.

“Hi, there, Peter”, Gargan said, not even bothering to sound friendly. Though his tone was light, there was malice dripping from his voice. “Did you sleep well?”

Peter didn’t respond, simply staring at the man in front of him and breathing heavily. All his instincts were telling him to just break free from the rope and fight his way out, but there was a little voice deep back inside his head telling him not to be impulsive. Peter ignored the fact that this voice sounded a lot like Tony.

But still, his course of thought was right – if there was a single chance that this was a mistake – that Gargan _didn’t_ know Peter was Spider-Man –, a fifteen-year-old breaking himself free from tight ropes and taking down three adult men would be extremely suspicious. Peter could be young and inexperienced, but he wasn’t naïve: he knew that Gargan wanted revenge for having a car dropped on his face _and_ for getting arrested over the ferry deal. If he found out that Peter was Spider-Man, he would most definitely do everything in his power to get the boy killed, and it wouldn’t be exactly difficult to figure out Peter’s identity if he went around taking down people a lot stronger than an average 15-year-old.

However, as smart as Peter was, there was still a single flaw in his logic. If Mac Gargan wasn’t aware of his secret identity, then why on _earth_ would he want to kidnap him?

He must have stayed silent for too long, because suddenly, there was a harsh impact making Peter’s head turn violently to the side. He realized, with shock, that Mac Gargan had slapped him.

The blow didn’t exactly hurt – Peter was strong and he had certainly dealt with a lot worse than a slap during his career as Spider-Man – but, being dizzy and having his senses overloaded because of the chloroform, the sudden slap only made Peter more disoriented. The sore skin of cheek tingled and burned, and his eyesight went back to swimming for a couple of seconds before he regained awareness, only to find that Mac Gargan was holding his head up by the jaw and starring him deep in the eyes, a murderous look on his face.

“When I ask you a question”, the man said, voice dangerously low, “you answer me. Understand?”

Peter wanted nothing more than to release his hands from behind his back and get the hell out of that place, but instead, he nodded simply. The man let go of his head and took a step back, staring down at Peter with an expression akin to disgust.

“Now, did you or did you not sleep well?”, Mac Gargan insisted, sounding like it was a matter of honor that Peter answered this stupid question.

“What do you want from me?”, Peter ended up blurting out, despite of his self-preservation instincts begging him to just do as he was told and answer the question. He wasn’t used to being afraid – even before he gained superpowers, Peter had always been a brave kid, even if weak. After he became Spider-Man, fear became a rarity in his life – he was a teenager who could lift a truck using only one hand and who could walk on walls and fight off criminals. He didn’t have any reason anymore to be _afraid_ of anything.

The only occasions in which he had ever felt fear after becoming Spider-Man were when his uncle Ben died in front of him, and when the Vulture dropped a building on him. Both situations still haunted his nightmares, and it wasn’t rare for Peter to wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, hearing Toomes’ phantom voice taunting him during a bad dream. But still, other than these, there was not much that scared him anymore – not even Mac Gargan, the Scorpion, who had somehow managed to drug him and kidnap him for whatever reason.

This, alone, should be enough to make Peter at least wary, but instead, it only made him angry and frustrated for making May worried about him _again_. He just wanted to get out of that place and go home, but he wasn’t stupid enough not to be at least a little apprehensive about the entire situation. He wasn’t about to comply to dangerous criminals, but he couldn’t get himself killed just out of spite, either.

Talking back and not answering his questions seemed to make Gargan very angry, because the next thing Peter knew, he was being punched in the stomach. The blow definitely hurt more than the previous slap and was enough to make him double over – or, at least, try to, since his hands were still tied behind his back. All breath escaped him through his lips and he gasped as he leaned heavily against the chair’s backrest, staring up at Mac Gargan with an apprehensive look that probably denounced, against his best attempts, just how much Peter wanted to punch him back.

“Your daddy clearly didn’t teach you any manners”, Mac Gargan spat out, sounding disgusted, and the words made Peter frown. Dad? What was he talking about? Did he know Uncle Ben? “But I ain’t got time to do his job for him. You’ve got a phone call, and I’ve got better stuff to do”, the Scorpion spat out, oblivious to the way Peter’s eyes widened when he mentioned the word dad.

He fished a phone – a burner – from his pocket and flipped it open, dialing a number and then holding it to his ear. Gargan waited for just a few seconds before the person on the other end of the call picked up. After saying a simple “he’s awake”, the Scorpion shoved the phone at Peter’s ear and stepped away, forcing the boy to tilt his head to the side so that he could hold the device between his ear and his shoulder. Peter almost dropped it from sheer shock once he heard the voice that greeted him.

“Hi, Pedro”.

His eyes widened and his face instantly paled as the voice that had been permeating his nightmares for months spoke into his ear. Noticing the boy’s obvious shock at listening to Toomes, Gargan laughed, stepping farther into the room as if to give Peter and the Vulture some privacy. Peter would have realized that Gargan didn’t look particularly happy about not being allowed to listen to his conversation with the Vulture, had he been paying attention to anything other than the phone call.

“I bet you thought you wouldn’t hear from me so soon”, Toomes continued once he realized that Peter wouldn’t – _couldn’t_ – answer. “But surprising you is becoming a habit for me. How are you enjoying your stay?”, he asked, managing to sound genuinely interested.

“W-What do you want?”, Peter asked, swallowing dry and managing to keep his voice from trembling and betraying just how _scared_ he was feeling out of a sudden. Because even though he had defeated the Vulture before, and even though he was strong, and capable, and smart, and a _hero_ , and even though he _rarely_ felt scared, the simple sound of Toomes’ voice was enough to make Peter’s stomach churn and twist with fear. He didn’t know why, he didn’t _understand_ why, there was _no_ reason why – but if anything, Toomes was one of the only people who seemed to be able to earn such a reaction from Peter. Maybe the fact that he had almost crushed Peter to his death by dropping a building on him had something to do with the deep sense of fright that coursed through Peter’s veins whenever he thought about the man.

“What do you _think_ I want, Pete?”, the Vulture scoffed, sounding almost humorous, as if Peter was asking him a stupid question. “You think I want to spend the rest of my life rotting in a prison cell, away from my wife and daughter? Or, or that I want to _repent_ and make amends for what I’ve done in the past years? No, no, no, no, no. I want out, Pete. I want to get out of this place and go back to living my life, instead of being trapped in here like a caged animal”, he growled.

“What life?”, Peter ended up scoffing, managing to sound braver than he actually felt. His hands were clenched into fists behind his back and he was on the brink of simply snapping the ropes at once and getting the hell out of that place, running as far away as he could and never having to listen to Toomes’ voice again. “A life of crime and selling weapons to criminals?”, he taunted, trying to ignore the fast pace of his heart inside his chest.

“A life with my family”, Toomes explained, sounding sterner than a moment before, as if he was beginning to lose his patience. “I already told you this, Peter. _Nothing_ in this world is more important than family”, he was silent for a few moments, as if in deep thought. “I think my friend Mac will manage to teach you that, since I clearly failed”, he added, pensively.

“ _What_?”, Peter couldn’t help but to blurt out, frowning, muscles tensing and heart leaping inside his chest at the statement. What was Toomes talking about? What was the Scorpion going to teach him? His _family_? Had he captured May? Had he hurt her? Was this Toomes’ sickening way to get his revenge on Peter – by hurting the only family he had left? Was she alive? Was she ok? Did Toomes want to take May away from him, just like Peter had taken him away from his family?

“You’ll understand everything soon enough”, Toomes said in a reassuring tone, but there was nothing reassuring about him for Peter, at all. “But don’t worry, Pete, I didn’t forget about the debt I owe you. All in all, you still saved my life, remember?”, he teased, going back to sounding friendly, almost as if he was having a pleasant chat with one of his drinking buddies. “So I did you a favor and I didn’t tell my pal Scorpion about your… _part-time job_ as the friend of the neighborhood. He won’t know if you don’t tell, so if I were you, I _wouldn’t tell_ ”, he said, tone threatening. “You understand me, Pedro?”

“Why are you doing this?”, Peter asked through gritted teeth, anger, fear, and frustration getting all mixed up inside his chest. He couldn’t understand what sadistic motivations could be possibly fueling Toomes’ actions. “Wasn’t being arrested and ruining Liz’s life enough? Why can’t you just do your time and _leave me alone_?”, he huffed out an angry breath.

“Ruining her life?”, Toomes asked, sounding almost offended. “ _Ruining her life_? No, no, no, I didn’t ruin her life. _You_ did”, he accused, sounding angry. “We were doing just fine before you shoved your little spider-nose where you weren’t supposed to. She had a good life, and a family, and a _future_. She had a father that loved her, and you took her away from me!”, he snarled, and there was a muffled sound that indicated that he had punched something in anger. “You’re the one to blame for all this. And you should be thankful that I didn’t snitch about your secret identity to the people who want to put your head on a tray. You have a lot of enemies in prison, did you know that? And all of them would be willing to pay a high price to get their hands on your neck”, he said. Peter swallowed dry again, anxiety growing in his chest. If Toomes wanted to, he could end Peter’s life with two single words.

“What is this all about?”, Peter asked, voice low. He sent a cautious look at Gargan’s direction as if to ensure he wasn’t eavesdropping, before adding: “If they don’t know I’m… who I am, then why kidnap me?”

“Well, you’re the ticket to getting my freedom back”, the Vulture explained simply, as if it was an obvious answer. “Not just my freedom, but also enough money to settle me and my family for life. You won’t have to worry about ever seeing me again after Gargan is done with you. And I hopefully won’t have to worry about ever seeing _you_ again, either”, he promised, sounding a bit too threatening.

It was Peter’s time to scoff, a confused frown appearing between his eyebrows.

“What are you talking about?”, he asked. Was it possible that Toomes had done so little research about him? “I don’t have any money”, he pointed out. May’s job at the clinic was barely enough to pay their New York rent and cover the necessities of the house. She’d never be able to pay a ransom to rescue him, no matter how desperately she wanted to, let alone make Toomes – or any of his henchmen – rich enough to disappear from the map.

“Yeah”, Toomes said simply, as if he had expecting Peter to say that. “But your daddy has”.

Peter’s frown deepened in sheer confusion for long moments before his face fell, instantly taken over by a blank expression of shock and realization. Was this…? Could this be about…?

“You wouldn’t believe how _easy_ it was to convince those clowns that Stark is actually your father. This is how I got Gargan to agree to break me out after I helped him. One hand washes the other, you know?”, Toomes scoffed, sounding pleased with himself. “Send Iron Man my regards when you talk to him, by the way”, he added before Peter could even think of a response. “And remember, Pete – there’s nothing Mac wants more than to find out Spider-Man’s secret identity and tear him to shreds for putting that ugly scar on his face. If I were you, I’d stay on my lane and comply to the plan without putting a fight. There’s a reason why they call him the Scorpion, you know?”, he chuckled. “He may look slow, but he has a fast sting, and he is definitely not as benevolent as I am. If he ever found out your secret identity…”, he trailed off, clicking his tongue. “I wouldn’t want to see the end of it. I’m sure that neither would your aunt”, he added, daring to sound _conversational_ as he threatened Peter and his family. The boy saw red, balling his hands into fists, but did nothing other than breathe deeply as if to keep his cool. “You wouldn't want him to find out who Spider-Man really is, would you?”, Toomes asked.

Peter stayed silent, breathing heavily and fighting back the tears threatening to pool in his eyes. He wouldn’t cry. He _couldn’t_ cry, no matter how much Toomes’ voice made his whole body shake with fear, anger, and repulsion. Of course, this whole thing made sense now – there was no reason for Mac Gargan to kidnap _Peter Parker_ , instead of Spider-Man. Peter would have never expected that the goal behind this whole deal was to get money from _Tony_ , of all people, but now that Toomes had explained it, everything about this plan sounded so pathetically predictable that Peter felt stupid.

At first, Peter couldn’t bring himself to be afraid of Gargan, no matter how vicious and violent the man seemed to be. Surely, he had been careful and well aware of how far the criminal was willing to go to achieve his goals, but he hadn’t been _afraid._ In fact, even after Toomes’ threat, he still wasn’t – but there was something about the way Toomes talked about the Scorpion that made Peter feel very uneasy. Maybe he was underestimating Mac Gargan and his determination to not only fulfil his plan, but also get his revenge on Spider-Man if he could.

Plus, Toomes had threatened Aunt May. Toomes _knew_ Aunt May. Peter couldn’t afford to risk her safety by revealing his identity to Gargan during an attempted escape. He would have to lay low and not do anything too harsh for a while, at least until he thought of a better plan to escape that didn’t jeopardize his identity or the safety of his aunt.

Peter thought about Tony learning of what had happened to him, and wondered what the billionaire’s reaction would be. What would he think of Peter, knowing that he had been so easily overpowered by a bunch of common criminals that weren’t even aware that he had powers?

“ _Would you?_ ”, Toomes insisted at the lack of a response, voice low and threatening, sounding like a snarl. Peter swallowed dry and gritted his teeth.

“No”, he muttered, angry and afraid and frustrated, all at the same time. He thought about May and of how worried she would be, and he thought about Tony and the look of disappointment in his face.

“No, what?”, Toomes urged, purposefully trying to humiliate Peter. The boy sniffed again, in anger.

“No, sir”, he said through gritted teeth, feeling disgusted.

“Good. Then be a good boy and don’t ruin my plans again”, Toomes advised, going back to sounding friendly. “Nice talk, Pedro, but I’ve got to go, now. Remember the debt I owed you is paid, now. I’ll make sure I send Liz your best”, he taunted, and before Peter could say anything in response, the line went dead.

Peter pulled his head back into a straight position as soon as Toomes hung up, stretching the sore muscles of his neck as well as he could, given his restraints. He turned his head so violently that one could have thought the phone had physically repelled him, and the sound of the device clattering to the floor once Peter shrugged it away caught the attention of Gargan and his henchmen. They stopped whatever discussion they had been having to look at Peter, who made a very special effort not to face any of them as he tried to control his breathing and the unsteady rhythm of his heart. He absolutely hated the way his body reacted to the mere sound of the Vulture’s voice, trembling and shaking all over, and he wished he could just be as Tony and look brave and fearless all the time.

“So, I’m assuming the talk was productive”, Gargan said with a sickening grin, bending over to pick up the fallen phone and shoving it back into his pocket. He eyed Peter for a few seconds, as if trying to read him and figure out what he could have discussed with Toomes. “Don’t do anything stupid, lil’ man”, he advised, running a hand through his nose and sniffing. “Just do as we say and we won’t have to hurt you”, he smiled.

Peter glared at Mac Gargan with intensity, seriously considering the possibility of breaking himself free and escaping before any of those men could even understand what was happening. But the _Vulture_ was involved in this, and the Vulture knew Aunt May, and Peter would never be able to forgive himself if anything happened to her. And even though he was almost sure that he could take Mac Gargan down while tied up to a chair, no matter how much everyone else seemed to think that the man was dangerous and powerful, he still decided that it would be best if, for now, he stayed in his lane and rolled with the flow.

He decided that the best course of action would be to wait until there was no one else in the room with him, and then he would break free from the ropes. With no one to witness how he actually escaped, they could assume that it was just dumb luck, or that his restraints weren’t too tight, or that one of the henchman messed up and let him lose by accident. If he acted on impulse and freed himself in front of everyone, he would be signing his and Aunt May’s death warrant – Mac Gargan and his crew already knew Peter’s name and identity. They could come for him, or for his aunt – or they could tell the Vulture about what happened, and god knows what Toomes would do to him if Peter screwed with his plans once again.

Yes. He would have to sit there and wait until no one else was watching, and then he would get rid of those ropes and just crawl his way out of that factory through the ceiling, where no one would think to look for him. He’d have to play dumb hostage in the meantime, just until he got the chance to escape, and he would be damned if he allowed Tony to actually _pay money_ to release him. Not only because the very idea was humiliating on its own – but also because Peter would never be in peace if he knew that men like Toomes and Mac Gargan got rich because of him.

Mac Gargan walked out of the room without saying anything else, but he left one of his men behind to keep a close eye on Peter while he was away. Suppressing the anxiety he was feeling and ignoring the rumbling noise his stomach was making, Peter sat in silence on his chair, patiently waiting for an opportunity to escape and trying his best not to imagine how angry Tony would be at him for being mistaken for his son and getting himself in this mess.

 

 

 

 

 

“Don’t _tell me_ there’s no way to find him when I own one of the most expensive surveillance tracking systems on the _planet_ ”, Tony spat out bitterly, running a hand through his already messy hair and trying his best to take a series of deep breaths in order to regain his composure. His attempts at getting calmer were completely ruined by Friday’s response.

“I’m working on it, boss, but they seem to be very well-equipped”, the A.I. explained, and if artificial intelligences could sound apologetic, she would have. “According to my calculations, it’s very probable that they are using alien technology to make themselves untraceable”.

“Then _bypass_ it. Do whatever it takes”, Tony ordered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, allowing himself to fall heavily against one of the many rolling chairs of his workshop and covering his face with both hands. He tried to do a breathing exercise, hating the way he could feel his arms shaking as he tried his best to calm down.

“Boss, your biometrical watch is showing worrisome readings regarding the state of your heart. Would you like me to call for medical assistance?”, Friday asked, actually managing to sound concerned. Or maybe it was just Tony projecting the concern that he was feeling onto the A.I.’s voice, though he didn’t doubt his capacity to make A.I.s show feelings. He ran another tired hand through his face.

“Don’t call anyone; just do what I told you to do”, he instructed, a bit more patiently. He turned his rolling chair in order to face the workshop’s holotable and activated it with a wave of his hand. “Put up the last recording available of him for me again”, he instructed Friday, and in less than a second the holographic projection of Peter’s last sighting appeared hovering above the table. He stared at the glowing, bluish holographic projection of Peter’s tired face with sadness, feeling his chest tighten at the sight of the missing boy.

Tony had gotten back to New York two hours before, having headed straight to his workshop in order to work on finding Peter as fast as he could. Friday had spent his entire flight back to the United States monitoring the state of his heart and giving him worrisome diagnosis, but Tony couldn’t care less about his own health at the moment. His top priority was finding the kid, making sure he was safe, arresting the people who had dared to kidnap him and then, _only_ then, he would bother to check on his apparently failing heart.

As if on cue, the private elevator to the workshop pinged and two people walked in, but Tony didn’t bother to turn to see who it was, too focused on analyzing the holographic projection of Peter’s last recorded location for what felt like the thousandth time. Furthermore, only four people apart from him had clearance to enter his workshop, and since Tony knew that it wasn’t Peter strolling in, he didn’t particularly care. He zoomed in on the street behind Peter on the hologram, trying to find anything that could be suspicious or someone that could look like a suspect.

“We should just let him work; we both know he’s not going to stop and there’s nothing you can really do to help, man”, Tony heard Rhodey argue as he entered the workshop.

“Fine, I know, I just want to talk to him”, Happy replied, trying to release his arm from Rhodey’s cautious grasp holding him back. Tony continued to stare at the table, face impassive, even though his heart was still beating erratic inside his chest. He had always been good at putting up a calm façade in front of others, no matter how he was crumbling apart on the inside, and this occasion was no exception.

“Hap, I don’t think now’s the best time –“, Rhodes tried to say, but Happy was already stepping beside Tony with an apprehensive look on his face.

“Tony”, the former boxer said, voice serious as always, but somehow, a bit too constricted. The billionaire didn’t look up from the holographic projection he was analyzing, as if Happy wasn’t right there speaking to him. “ _Tony_ ”, Happy urged at his friend’s lack of response.

“What?”, Tony asked dismissively, sounding uninterested in whatever it was Happy had to say. The driver sighed in frustration, but the worry and guilt he was feeling gave him motivation to keep trying to urge a proper response from his friend.

“Look, what the hell is going on?”, Happy asked, sounding slightly impatient. “One moment you’re all the way across the world, and the next thing I know your A.I. is asking me questions about the kid’s itinerary for the day, then Rhodes calls to tell me he was _kidnapped_? And now you’re back here and no one seems to be able to give me _one_ reasonable explanation to whatever the hell is happening”, he said, allowing his hands to fall beside his legs in frustration.

Tony continued to analyze the holographic projection, leaning his chin on his hand and covering his mouth with a finger. His eyes were glued to the hologram in front of him for a long while, but from the impatient, constant bouncing of his leg and the determined look on his face, Happy could tell that he had, indeed, heard him, but didn’t want to answer.

“I don’t really know what’s happening”, he added impatiently after Tony remained silent, but his tone was sincere. “But whatever it is, I want to help”.

This seemed to be the last thing Tony needed to hear at that moment, because he was up on his feet in a second, pushing the rolling chair back with such sudden impulse that it rolled several feet behind him, only coming to a stop when it collided with a nearby desk. He took a step towards Happy, looking pale, tired and worn out, but most importantly, looking very, _very_ angry. The fact that Tony was the shortest of the two didn’t make his posture any less threatening as he glared up at Happy with resentment in his eyes.

“I think you’ve done _enough_ , wouldn’t you say?”, Tony squinted his eyes and raised an eyebrow at his friend. His tone was sarcastic, but Happy could read the bitterness and the hurt behind the words.

“Tony –“, he raised a hand towards the man, as if to try and calm him down. Tony took another step towards him and Happy instinctively took a step back.

“Hey, Tony, c’mon”, Rhodes stepped in, trying to place himself between Tony and Happy while holding a calming hand against his best friend’s shoulder. Tony shrugged the hand off as if it was nothing, not taking his eyes away from Happy now that he had finally bothered to face him.

“No, I want to hear it”, Tony continued, glaring at Happy with hurt and resentment barely masked in his eyes. “Tell me _all about_ how my kid asked you to drive him over _several times_ and you just ignored him and let him wander by himself in the middle of the night, which directly resulted on him being kidnapped by a guy who wants him dead”, he spat out. Happy looked sincerely shocked at this information. All that he had heard was that Peter had been taken by someone, but no one had told him the specifics so far. Rhodes, sensing Happy’s shock, placed his hand on Tony’s shoulder again to hold him back.

“Tones, I know you’re worried about Peter, and so are we, but you need to _calm down_ ”, Rhodes said, patient, and when Tony tried to shrug away from the touch again, he tightened his grip on his friend’s shoulder. Tony turned to look at him with something akin to betrayal in his eyes, but Rhodes remained firm. “Happy doesn’t know what happened”, Rhodes explained, serious. “I had no time to explain anything; no one did. Don’t take it out on him”, he advised, looking deeply into Tony’s eyes. “I know you’re angry, but Gargan is the one to blame, not him”.

Tony stared at Rhodes with hurt for a few seconds before averting his eyes back to Happy, who had a confused, guilty look on his face. Tony looked terribly young like that, hair unruly from the amount of times he nervously ran his hands through it; unkempt clothes he didn’t bother to change from the trip and red-rimmed eyes from the hours he had gone without sleeping (amongst other reasons that he would never admit out loud). If Rhodes didn’t know better, he would have sworn he had just found 2008 Tony, working through a hangover at the workshop.

Eventually, Tony got tired of glaring at Happy and spared Rhodes one last glance before turning back towards the holotable, grabbing his rolling chair and pulling it close so that he could sit down and go back to analyzing Peter’s last known location. Happy stood in the middle of the workshop, looking like a kicked puppy and frowning in confusion at everything that was happening. Noticing that the man wasn’t about to leave, Tony spoke up without looking at him.

“I need to work. You two can go, now”, he said simply, with no emotion.

 “Tony”, Happy insisted, even though the billionaire didn’t react. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know; I thought the kid was just being his usual self and saying things without meaning anything. He called me _Harold_ ; I thought he was just joking around”, he explained, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself than Tony. If Rhodes didn’t know better, he would have described Happy’s tone as desperate. Tony’s shoulders dropped a bit at the words, but he still mustered no response. “Really, Tony”, Happy added, taking another step forwards. “I never meant for anything bad to happen to the kid. You know how much I like him”.

“Happy”, Rhodes called, apprehensive and well aware of the toll that conversation would take on Tony, on the top of everything else that was already happening.

“I want to help”, Happy added, sounding defeated, but insistent. “If there’s anything I can do, just… let me know”, he concluded, lowering his head slightly and tilting it towards Rhodes, a helpless look in his eyes.

“Hap, I have to talk to Tony for a second. Can you…?”, Rhodes gestured to the door of the workshop, giving Happy an apologetic look. “Just… Wait outside for a second, ok? I’ll explain everything to you in a moment”, he promised. Happy nodded his acknowledgment, more silent than usual. He spared Tony one final apologetic look before taking a step closer to Rhodes, as if to tell him a secret.

“Is Peter ok?”, he asked simply, voice barely above a whisper as if he didn’t want Tony to hear it. Rhodes lowered his head, rubbing the back of his neck.

“We don’t know yet”, he admitted with sincerity. There was no use in sugarcoating – they hadn’t been contacted by Gargan ever since his first call back at Hong Kong. There was no way to tell how Peter was doing until the kidnappers called Tony again. Happy swallowed dry and nodded simply. He didn’t look Rhodes in the eyes as he turned on his heels and exited the workshop, waiting outside the door as requested with a grim expression on his face.

Once Happy was gone, Rhodes turned back towards Tony, a worried look in his eyes. Tony continued to ignore him, pale face focused on zooming on whatever new detail he had just found on the projection.

“Just remember you won’t be able to do anything for Peter if you get yourself sent to the ER”, Rhodes warned, sounding tired. If Tony heard what he said, he didn’t give any indication of that. The colonel sighed, leaning his hip on the holotable and crossing his arms above his chest. “This is not your fault”, he said decisively after a few silent moments went by. Tony sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before reopening them, never meeting Rhodes’ fixed gaze on him. Rhodes was having none of his friend’s unusual silent treatment, and tilted his head to the side. “You hear me?”, he raised an eyebrow, sounding like a scolding parent.

“Sure, Rhodey”, Tony said in monotone, distracted. Rhodes sighed.

“I mean it, Tones”, he insisted, sparing the door of the workshop a single glance to see if Happy was still there before turning back to Tony. “Look, I know very well how much you _love_ blaming yourself for things that aren’t your fault, but listen to me just this once. The only ones to blame are the people who kidnapped Peter. Not you. Not Happy. Just them”, he explained. Tony finally looked up from the holotable and faced Rhodes with doubt in his red-rimmed eyes, looking exhausted.

“This would have never happened if I hadn’t gotten so close to him in the first place”, Tony shook his head, a sort of self-loathing that was extremely rare in him seeping through his voice. “If I hadn’t given people reason to believe he’s my son –“, he trailed off.

“If you hadn’t gotten close to him”, Rhodes said, “he would probably be dead. From what you told me, the makeshift suit he used to wear was just as useful as a hoodie in the terms of protecting him. Plus, someone would end up finding out his secret identity from those YouTube videos, like you did before encrypting everything. If anything, you _saved_ him, and you’re helping him be better. This isn’t on you”, he shook his head. Tony stared at him with hesitation. “You know I’m right”, Rhodes added after a few seconds of silence. “But _I_ know you’re too much of a _Tony_ to admit that I’m right, so I’ll leave you to do your thing and go have a talk with Happy about what happened, ok?”, he said, tapping a friendly hand to Tony’s shoulder. “I’ll be back in a few. Try not to overwork yourself too much while I’m gone”.

Tony didn’t meet Rhodey’s eyes as he nodded his silent agreement, and the man knew that was probably all that he would get from the billionaire for the time being. Sighing, he tapped Tony’s shoulder one final time, trying to put as much reassurance as possible in the touch. Rhodes knew that he was one of the only people who Tony trusted and, most importantly, around whom Tony let his guard down. The man was clearly distressed and in need of help – Rhodes knew how important Peter was to him –, but Happy was also distressed and had no idea what was going on. Rhodey needed to fill him in, so that he could issue a proper apology for not picking Peter up and help them find the boy.

“Call me if you need anything, or if anything new shows up, ok?”, Rhodes asked, squeezing Tony’s shoulder. Tony nodded again, sniffing and turning his head away from his best friend so that he could get back to work. He didn’t watch Rhodes leave, but once he heard the sound of the elevator doors closing, he raised his head to find both him and Happy gone.

He spent a while going through every possible detail from the last recorded image of Peter, zooming in and out on several points as if trying to find an easter egg or a hidden clue that could point towards the boy’s location. His phone kept buzzing with incoming texts from May, but Tony didn’t dare to read any of them. He was already having a hard time coping with everything that was happening already – he didn’t need to have the weight of May’s accusations (which were bound to happen) on the top of his guilt list. Of course, he knew he couldn’t ignore her for too long – she deserved, more than anyone, to know what was happening to her nephew –, but he couldn’t find it in himself to talk to her until he at least knew more details about what was going on with Peter.

Three minutes after Rhodes left with the promise of returning soon, Tony’s phone rang. He stared at the screen with anxiety and anticipation in his eyes, fearing that it would be May calling, but his heart sank lower in his chest as he saw that the caller ID was hidden. He picked up the call, trembling hands barely managing to hold the device to his ear. He said no greeting.

“I take it you’re back in New York”, Gargan said, tone taunting. Tony’s nostrils flared at the sound of his voice. “Good. Now I know where your priorities stand”, the man teased.

“Cut the crap”, Tony snapped, angry. “Just tell me your price”. As he spoke on the phone, he turned his rolling chair towards his computer and began typing something down, meaning to track the call.

“You know, that’s the problem with y’all billionaires”, Gargan scoffed. “You think everything has a price. Everything and everyone can be bought, if you give them enough money. Sometimes, it just ain’t like that”, he said conversationally.

Tony’s fingers halted their typing for a moment of shock as he took in Gargan’s words, but he soon returned to his job, aware that he could waste no time in tracking the man down. He wondered what the man could possibly mean by saying that not everything could be bought. If he didn’t want a ransom for Peter, then what was the point in kidnapping him and calling Tony?

“If this isn't about money, then what do you want?”, Tony asked, stalling for time as he set up the tracking program. He needed to keep Gargan on the line for at least a few minutes more.

“Oh, I don’t know”, Gargan said with a shrug. “Maybe I just want to hear you beg for his life”.

Tony swallowed dry, silent. The muscles of his body were tense and there was a vein popping at one of his temples.

After an eternity of silence, Gargan burst into laughter, the sound sending a wave of nausea to Tony’s stomach and making him let out a shaky breath. The laughter went on for a long time, perhaps longer than necessary, until Gargan regained his composure and picked the phone up again.

“Oh, man, I wish I could have seen your face right now”, he giggled, sounding amused. “Anyway, I think we need to establish some ground rules first before we get to work. First of all, if Iron Man, or any Avenger, cop, S.H.I.E.L.D. agent or whatever shows up here, Peter gets a bullet in the head. If you try to play me or set me up, Peter gets a bullet in the head. If you don’t deliver what I ask you to or try to put a tracker on the money, Peter gets a bullet in the head. If you as much as _think_ about playing me, Peter gets a bullet in the head. I do have a lot of bullets, and Peter only has one head, so if I were you, I’d think wisely about trying to double cross me”, he said, voice going from friendly to menacing in less than a second.

“I’m listening”, Tony complied, voice tight.

“I’m going to send you an account number and you’re going to make a little deposit for me. Don’t bother trying to trace it – even with all your gadgets, we still have something you don’t”, Gargan said.

“And what would that be?”, Tony raised an eyebrow, watching with anxiety as the progress bar of the tracking program he’d developed grew slowly. Could Gargan be talking about alien tech?

“That doesn’t really concern you, now, does it?”, Gargan scoffed. “Anyway. After you make the deposit and I confirm it, I’ll get in touch with you again to send an address and a list of weapons you’re supposed to drop off there. I think I’ve already mentioned what will happen to Peter’s head if you try and take someone with you to this location”, he threatened. “After I confirm the weapons were dropped off and are working normally, you’ll get your kid back. Did I make myself clear?”

“Vehemently so”, Tony spat out sarcastically. The progress bar was completed, and a shaky breath of half-relief, half-fear left his nose.

“Good. It was nice making business with you”, Gargan said dismissively, as if he was about to hang up.

“Wait”, Tony blurted out before he could think better. “Let me talk to Peter”, he demanded, aware of how pathetic that must have sounded to Gargan. However, he couldn’t bring himself to care – his own pride was the last priority in his head at that moment. All that mattered was Peter’s safety, and he needed to make sure the kid was holding up fine. Most of all, he needed to let the kid know that he was on his way, that he was going to help, that he wasn’t _alone_.

All Tony could think of was his time as a captive back in Afghanistan, and how he prayed every night to a god he didn’t believe in that there was someone out there looking for him. He would have killed to receive a call from Rhodes, or Pepper, or Happy; just to let him know that they were on their way, that they wouldn’t let him die in that hole, alone and forgotten. To think that Peter could be in the same situation – to think that Peter could be _feeling that way_ – was too much for his already aching heart. He wanted to at least be able to tell the kid that it was going to be fine, to reassure him in a way that he, himself, had never been reassured. Gargan, however, was insensitive of Tony’s needs.

“You’ll have plenty of time to talk to Peter when we’re done”, was his response right before the line went dead.

Tony swallowed dry, breathing heavily. He balled his shaking hands into fists and dropped his phone to the table with more violence than necessary, leaning the balls of his hands against his forehead. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. In, out. In, out. He kept trying to put his breathing under control and failing to do so, and even though he wanted to scream, and be alone, and punch something, he had never felt more needy of a hug in his life. He wished Rhodes would come back already, but was too proud to call the man.

“Friday”, he called, voice constricted and throat dry. He ran another hand through his hair, messing it up even more. He looked helpless and frantic like that, almost unhealthily so. “Send – send a drone to the location the program tracked”, he instructed, gesturing at the computer screen in front of him. He stood up from his seat, but was forced to lean one hand on the desk as he tried to regain his balance. Black and white dots swam in his vision for a moment. “But be discreet and make it untraceable; I don’t know how much tech these people have and this could be a trap. I just want to check if Peter is actually there before thinking of a course of action”.

“Right away, boss”, Friday complied, ready as always. “Your personal phone has just received a new text from an unknown number containing a bank account information and a value to be deposited. Should I work on trying to trace it?”

“Go ahead, but I doubt we’ll get too far”, Tony swallowed dry again, sitting back down as a wave of dizziness hit him. “These guys aren’t amateurs when it comes to tracing tech. I need to find a way around this alien bullshit”, he shook his head in disappointment.

“You have an incoming call from May Parker”, Friday warned, making Tony snap his head up. “Should I tell her you’re busy?”, the A.I. suggested.

Tony stared off at the distance for long moments, breathing with difficulty and bearing a sad, guilty look on his face. Attesting that Friday had already deployed a drone to check if the phone call’s location was the same as where Peter was being withheld, and aware that he couldn’t delay the inevitable any longer, he gave in.

“Don’t answer the call”, Tony instructed his A.I. “But text May and tell her I’m coming over”.

“Should I inform her of Peter’s situation as a hostage?”, Friday inquired.

Tony ran a shaking hand on his tired face, closing his eyes for the briefest of seconds. He wished he could just go to sleep and be rid of this nightmare when he woke up, but life just wasn’t that easy. He was well aware that May would blame him for Peter being kidnapped – and she was absolutely right for doing so. No matter how hard Rhodey tried to convince him, Tony knew _he_ had a great deal of the blame for what happened to the kid. Gargan never said anything about Spider-Man or Peter’s secret identity, which indicated that he most probably didn’t know anything about it. No, the reason why Peter had been captured was because these people thought he was Tony’s son – and who was to blame for that?

“No”, Tony told Friday, voice heavy with grief and guilt. “You can leave that to me”.

 

 

 

 

Around midnight, the henchman watching Peter finally fell asleep, snoring softly as his head lolled to the side where he was sat standing post. This was Peter’s chance to finally break free from his bindings and escape, now that there was no one watching him.

Little did he know that Mac Gargan was _always_ watching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly hope this wasn't too boring to read! There's more action (and angst) coming on the following chapters.  
> I'd like to wholeheartedly thank every single one of you who read and left comments on the first chapter! I answered the first two but I decided to focus my time on writing the second installment of this story afterwards. But I read every single one of the comments and they all warmed my heart and motivated me to keep going! Thank you for you support and, most of all, for enjoying reading this as much as I enjoy writing it!  
> A lot of you asked me about the regularity of the following updates, but I'm afraid I can't promise any sort of regular schedule for this story. I'm not saying I will take too long to post new chapters or that I'll abandon it - just that I have a lot to do right now, with university and a new internship I got (not a Stark internship, unfortunately). It usually takes me a couple of days to write a new chapter and another day to re-read and revise it, so while you can expect new updates to happen every few other days, I can't promise they will always be like that. Having said that, I'd like to make clear that I'm loving writing this story and that it probably won't be too long - I'll try to update as often as I can!  
> Once again, thank you all so much for your support and I hope I can keep living up for your expectations. There's a lot of angst and fluff on the way yet!  
> Don't forget to comment and tell me your thoughts if you can!


	3. Chapter 3

May’s eyes were red-rimmed and puffy when she opened the door, and she took a step to the side to allow Tony inside the small apartment.

He had a hard time meeting her eyes as he walked in, heading straight to the center of the living room as she closed the door behind him. His hands were inside his pockets and his head was lowered once she turned towards him, an apprehensive, almost dreadful look painted on her face. Tony tried to count every breath he took and control them, but the intensity of her eyes fixed upon him made it even more difficult to breathe. He knew he would have to look up at some point, but couldn’t bring himself to.

“Tony”, May said after several silent moments passed and the man did nothing other than stand in the middle of the room. Her voice was tight with fear and worry, sounding deeper than it usually was. If Tony had looked up, he would have noticed the crease between her brows and the frightened tears glistening in her eyes. “Is he… Is Peter…?”, she asked in a small voice, trailing off as if afraid to finish the sentence. As if finishing the sentence would make it real.

Tony’s heart leaped at this, because, _oh shit_ , he was only making things worse, wasn’t he? May hadn’t received word from Peter in almost a whole day and instead of replying to her texts, Tony had decided to come over personally. Which was something he _never_ did. Of _course_ she would assume the worst, and the thought that he might have contributed to making May believe Peter was _dead_ made Tony’s eyes widen and his head snap up towards her. She was shaking and tearing up from fear, but her face was solemn, as if she was trying her best to stay strong. Tony’s expression immediately softened and he shook his head, taking a step closer to her.

“No”, he reassured, and the relief that overcame her was so tangible that he thought her knees would give in for a moment. “No, no, he’s alive”, Tony said, taking a step closer to her as she covered her face with one shaking hand, letting out a shaky breath and dropping her shoulders. She rubbed her eyes beneath her glasses and took and allowed Tony to help her sit on the couch, the billionaire taking the spot beside her.

“ _Oh my god_ ”, she whispered, voice tight with emotion. “When he didn’t answer my calls I was worried, but when you said you were coming over, I thought – I, I assumed –”, she trailed off again, not looking at Tony as she tried to regain her composure.

“I’m sorry”, Tony said with sincerity, holding one comforting hand to her shoulder and squeezing it. He shook his head. “I should have thought better before I texted you, but I was so busy – I’m sorry, May”, he said, not quite mustering the courage enough to extend the reasons behind his apology just yet.

“What _happened_?”, May asked, turning on the couch so that she could face him properly. The deep confusion and concern in her eyes only served to make Tony’s guilt increase. “I mean, it’s not unusual for him not to answer my calls right away – god knows how many times we’ve argued over that –, but he has been gone for almost an entire day and –“, she gestured at Tony’s form, sitting on the couch. “You’re _here_. I know you wouldn’t have come unless something serious had happened, so what is it?” she urged, nervous. Tony could see from the paleness of her face that she had probably spent the entirety of the previous day fretting over Peter, unaware of what had happened to him, and he wished he didn’t have to be the person to give her the bad news. He _knew_ that she would be angry with him; that she would probably demand that he never got anywhere near her nephew again. And still, as much as Tony knew that she was right in wanting to keep Peter away from him, and as much as he knew that he _should_ keep the hell away from Peter, he was still too selfish to want to.

Because truth be told, he loved the kid. Peter was incredibly smart, and intelligent, and talented, and quick, and funny, and jovial, and he had all of Tony’s qualities but none of his defects. Tony didn’t _want_ to lose the kid’s increasingly frequent presence in his life, but if being around Peter jeopardized the boy’s safety, then he would get away from him without batting an eye. He’d rather have Peter far away from him and alive, happy, and safe, than have him close and hurt.

Or dead.

Tony swallowed dry, lowering his head again as if to muster the courage to tell May what was happening. What _was_ happening? Was Peter hurt? Was he ok? Tony hadn’t even got the chance to speak to him, and _not knowing_ what was happening was killing him. He had always hating not knowing something.

“Tony”, May insisted, sounding even more worried by the man’s prolonged silence. “What’s going on? Talk to me”, she urged, shifting anxiously on the couch. Tony raised his head again to look at her, grief and guilt evident in his eyes and grim face, and this only served to increase her concern even further. “Tell me what happened to Peter. Is – is he hurt?”, she asked, eyes frantically searching Tony’s face for whatever answer she could find. Her face was full of anticipation.

“I don’t know”, Tony admitted, watching with a tightness in his chest as May frowned in confusion. This was it. He would have to say it. She deserved to know. _Here goes nothing_. “I had to fly over to Hong Kong yesterday, and while I was there I received a call from a man claiming he had kidnapped Peter”, he explained without further ado. No sugarcoating, no lying to Peter’s aunt – it would be better to rip the Band-Aid off in one go.

May stared at him for a few moments, brow creased in what seemed to be a constant frown, now, and mouth opening and closing as if she couldn’t find the proper words to say. She blinked dumbly at him for a while, as if she was having a hard time comprehending his words.

“Kid… Kidnapped?”, she tilted her head, squinting her eyes and never ceasing to frown. “Why would anyone want to kidnap Peter?”, she asked hesitantly, almost suspiciously, as if she already knew the answer to her question, but was afraid to confirm it.

Tony took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly through his nose. He – surprisingly – managed to keep his face and his voice firm as he replied.

“They thought he was my son”.

Silence.

The faraway, muffled sounds of the street outside and of the neighbors next to the apartment suddenly became loud in face of the silence with which May received that information. Her eyes averted from Tony, staring at nothing in particular as she continued to blink and frown in confusion, trying to make sense of the billionaire’s words. She looked like a child trying to figure out the answer to a difficult math problem, and there was a mixture of raw emotions in her eyes when she finally met Tony’s gaze again, hurt and confusion being the most evident of them.

“Why would… Why would anyone think he’s…”, she trailed off, shaking her head and breathing heavily. She rubbed both hands against her face nervously and stood up from the couch abruptly, pacing in front of Tony with one hand leaning on her hip and another raised to her mouth so that she could bite down on her nails. “Your _son_?”, she asked, as if she couldn’t quite believe it, gesturing at Tony with one hand before going right back to biting its nails.

“I –“, Tony tried to say, but May cut him off as if he hadn’t spoken up in the first place.

“I mean, _ok_ , I can understand why some people would think that”, she rambled nervously. “You’re famous, and an easy topic for tabloids, and I’m not _stupid_ ; I can tell your relationship with Peter is a lot more personal than what a boss would usually have with an intern, and I was fine with that, even though he was clearly getting more tired and distracted. He likes you so much that I couldn’t bring myself to make him drop the internship, but being _kidnapped_?”, she raised her eyebrows at Tony, gesturing wildly with her hands again. She looked like the perfect mixture of angry and helpless. “How could you let this _happen_?”

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen”, Tony pointed out, but his tone lacked conviction. He knew he deserved every bit of trashing May decided to give him. In fact, he had walked into her apartment prepared to walk out bearing a black eye. This didn’t mean that hearing the pain and the accusation in her tone hurt any less, and as he got to his feet in order to face her eye-to-eye, it became more difficult to breathe. He only hoped she could realize how sorry he was. “If I had known there was someone targeting him – trying to kidnap him –, I would have never allowed it, I would have protected him –“

“Aren’t you a _billionaire_?”, May interrupted him again to point out, shaking her head. “You should have seen something like that was coming! You two hang out with each other all the time, Tony; what’s the point in having all this money if you can’t even protect _him_? He’s just a kid! A sixteen-year-old kid and he was _kidnapped_ ”, she half-shouted, half-whispered in horror, letting out a shaky breath and turning her back to Tony while running her fingers through her hair in despair.

Tony swallowed dry again at the words, lowering his eyes and tilting his head to the side. He knew May was right, but hearing the words made his stomach churn and his lungs constrict. He felt like he was about to be sick, and he didn’t need his biometric watch or Friday’s assistance to know that his heart was beating too erratically inside his chest. He was probably on the verge of having a panic attack, not just because of his current situation with May, but because of the added weight of everything that had happened to him over the course of the past day. May probably realized this, too, because as soon as she turned on her heels to face Tony again, she only spared him a quick glance-over before grabbing one of his arms in a tight grip.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, sit down before you keel over”, she instructed, pushing Tony back to the couch a little bit too aggressively. He fell heavily on his seat, trying his best to keep his cool and not embarrass himself ~~(further)~~ in front of Peter’s aunt. He couldn’t afford to panic until he had found Peter and ensured his safety, but his body seemed to be having a hard time accepting that. “The only reason I’m not throttling you right now for putting my boy in danger is because you already look like you’re about to pass out on your own”, May announced, watching Tony with close attention and pointing a warning finger at him before going back to pacing. She didn’t really sound like she was anywhere near actually throttling him, but he didn’t doubt her will to do so.

“I’m working on getting him back”, Tony reassured her after taking a couple of calming breaths. His tone was uncharacteristically blank and she eyed him with suspicion. “I’ve already sent drones to a possible location I tracked from the phone call, and if nothing I do is enough to find him, I will comply with the requests the kidnappers make”, he explained with honesty.

“Who kidnapped him, anyway?”, May turned to face him again, only to immediately go back to pacing the small room in front of the couch. “Why would someone _do_ this?”, she asked, sounding like she was questioning herself, rather than Tony.

“The man who contacted me is MacDonald Gargan”, Tony explained, catching May’s attention. He waited a moment before adding: “He used to be an associate of Adrian Toomes”. May’s eyes widened in recognition.

“Liz’s father? The one who was arrested in Homecoming?”, she asked, shocked.

“The one and only”, Tony sighed miserably. He knew he couldn’t reveal anything about Peter’s identity to his aunt, so he would have to be as careful as he could during this conversation. She deserved to know what was going on with her nephew – and, as far as Tony knew, Peter’s kidnapping didn’t have anything to do with his secret identity, so there was no reason why he should bring Spider-Man up to May. “I have reason to believe he was the one who started the rumors about Peter being my son, and that he is the head behind the kidnapping”, he added.

The idea had occurred to Tony not long after he found out that the man who had contacted him was Mac Gargan. Toomes knew of Peter’s secret identity, but Gargan clearly didn’t; otherwise, he would have brought it up during the phone calls. Both criminals had been locked up in the same prison and, most probably, had gotten in touch with each other, being former partners.

At first, Tony had no idea why Toomes hadn’t revealed Peter’s identity to the boy’s enemies as revenge, but he eventually figured out that the Vulture must have realized Peter was worth more to him alive, rather than dead. After all, if Toomes was really involved in the kidnapping, he would most definitely get part of the money they had demanded from Tony – and possibly try to escape from prison. Tony would have to look into that, too.

“But why would he do that?”, May frowned, halting her pacing to a stop as she stood in front of Tony. “Why would Toomes target _Peter_ , of all people?”

“He knew Peter was my intern”, Tony said, not meeting May’s eyes. He knew that this was Toomes’ way to take his revenge on Peter – and on Tony himself – while still making profit out of it. But he couldn’t explain that to May without _also_ explaining the reason why Toomes would want revenge against her sixteen-year-old nephew in the first place. “He is probably trying to find a way out of prison before his time is done, and told Gargan  this rumor about Peter being my son so that they’d get money out of me and run away”, he shrugged.

“Well, then?”, May shrugged back, as if Tony was talking utter nonsense. “Pay them and get Peter back!”, she instructed, a bit too exasperated.

“I already did”, Tony said, fishing his phone out of his pocket and showing her the screen, which contained a deposit receipt. As soon as Tony had arrived at Queens, driving his personal sport car – he couldn’t bring himself to ask Happy to drive him, not just yet –, Friday had told him that the account that Gargan had sent him was, indeed, untraceable. Deciding that it would be better to buy himself more time to look for Peter by complying with their first request, rather than endanger the boy’s life by stalling, Tony had deposited the required amount of five hundred million dollars on the account. “But that isn’t their only demand”, he pointed out, putting his phone back into his pocket and ignoring the way May’s eyes widened in horror as she saw the value of the deposit.

“What else do they want?”, she asked, apprehensive, staring at Tony with a mixture of admiration for him being willing to pay such a high amount to save her nephew, and fear, regarding the answer to her question.

“They want me to give them weapons”, Tony explained matter-of-factly, tilting his head away from May and sniffing. He was doing his best to keep his face neutral, rather than breaking down in front of her, but it was getting harder with each passing second. He remembered all the times Howard scolded him for crying or showing weakness in front of others, and used that as a foundation for the walls he put up. “Stark tech. Top notch. Fully experimental and unprecedented in the market”, he explained, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “Which is why I’m working on finding Peter before they can send me the address to deliver the load”, he concluded.

“I thought Stark Industries had stopped making weapons”, May said in a small, confused voice, trying to keep up with everything Tony was telling her.

“And we did”, Tony explained tiredly, sighing and getting back to his feet as naturally as he could. “But ever since the Battle of New York, we’ve been studying and working with alien tech, which is Toomes’ specialty. He could probably weaponize this tech too, if he wanted. They say they’ll let Peter go if I give them the weapons, but you can’t exactly trust the word of a guy who kidnaps kids for a living”, he scoffed sarcastically. “And we can’t afford having lunatics like Gargan or Toomes walking around with dangerous tech, especially after what they’ve done”, he added solemnly. “And now that they have money… who knows what else they can do”.

“So you’ll just ignore them and go looking for Peter on your own?”, May squinted her eyes, disbelief evident in her voice. She looked very tired out of a sudden, as if all of her energy had been drained from pacing and worrying over Peter.

“No”, Tony said, placing one hand on May’s shoulder and squeezing it reassuringly, as if to seal his promise. “I will _find_ Peter”.

She half-scoffed, half-sighed, lowering her head in despair and shaking it as if she couldn’t quite believe this was happening to her. She tilted her head up as if to hold back the tears threatening to spill, and bit her lower lip in an attempt to keep her face straight as she met Tony’s eyes.

“And what if you don’t?”, she sniffed a couple of times, shaking her head slightly in doubt. There was so much hurt in concern in her gaze that Tony’s heart felt tight with guilt. He kind of wished she would have punched him as he had expected – it would probably hurt less than seeing her so broken.

“That’s not an option”, Tony admitted, trying his best to keep the self-deprecation he was feeling from his voice. Because it was true – not finding Peter was not an option for him.

He would find the boy and get him to safety, or he would die trying. Peter was in this whole mess because of _him_ , and Tony was responsible for keeping him safe. He would be damned if he gave up on his kid. Even if he never got to see Peter again, in order to ensure his safety, Tony would never give up on him.

Right on that moment, Tony’s phone bleeped with an alarm that indicated that Friday had found something. He immediately retrieved his hand from May’s shoulder and pulled his eyeglasses from his pocket, putting them on, ready to take in whatever it was that his A.I. had for him.

“Friday, talk to me”, he instructed, and May stared at him in confusion for a couple of seconds before realizing Tony was talking to someone else through the glasses.

“The dispatched drone has retrieved images from the location you tracked, boss”, Friday informed him, but unlike Tony had expected, no images of the location appeared on the HUD screen. He frowned.

“Well?”, he urged the A.I., who was silent for a bit too long than comfort. “Friday?”, Tony called, dread settling itself in the bottom of his stomach. There was something wrong.

“Peter is not at this location”, Friday informed him, and if A.I.s could have sounded apologetic, she would have. Tony couldn’t quite bring himself to breathe. “And I do not believe it is advisable to see the images the drone retrieved while you’re in the company of Mrs. Parker”, she added with an almost-sensibility.

“Why?”, Tony frowned, sparing May a quick glance before turning slightly away from her. Friday was silent for a few seconds, as if trying to decide what words she should choose.

“They could be very triggering for you”, Friday advised, finally. Aware that his A.I. did not take his traumas and triggers lightly, Tony decided to take her word for it – he had programmed her, after all. Nodding his head, even though the A.I. couldn’t see it, and shoving his hands back into his pockets in an attempt to look as natural as possible, he turned back towards May.

“Get everything ready at the workshop for me”, Tony instructed Friday. “I’m heading back”.

“Right away, boss”, the A.I. complied. Tony removed his eyeglasses and returned them to his pocket unceremoniously.

“What is it?”, May asked anxiously, holding her hands close to her chin. “Did you find him?”, she could barely keep the expectation from her voice.

“No”, Tony admitted grievously. May’s face fell. “But a clue came up and I need to go back to the workshop to analyze it. I’ll call you as soon as I find anything”, he reassured, recollecting himself in order to leave, but the offended look May gave him was enough to halt him in his tracks.

“I’m going with you”, she announced as if it was obvious, her tone leaving no room for discussion. Tony blinked blankly at her for a few moments, which encouraged her to continue. “What, you think I’ll just sit at home doing nothing while my nephew is out there as a hostage?”, she asked, indignant, marching her way over to the kitchen and grabbing her purse.

“You won’t be able to help”, Tony pointed out with a raised eyebrow. “And as soon as I know where he is, I’ll go rescue him in a suit. There’s not much you can do”, he reasoned. May scoffed.

“God knows what these people are doing to him right now; I have to be there for him when he gets back”, May argued, shaking her head. “I can’t just sit here while Peter is out there, Tony! He’s my kid!”

Tony understood May’s point – had he been in her place, he would have dreaded the idea of sitting idly at home while Peter was in danger. But even if he sympathized with her despair, he couldn’t bring her along – she wouldn’t be able to do anything to help, and it was probable she would only get in his way, even if unintentionally. There was no room for her to stay at in the facility, and if she was to wait for news with Tony at his workshop, he wouldn’t be able to analyze the data from the drone. On the top of all that, there was evidence about Spider-Man all around the shop – Tony and Peter worked together on suits and science there – and the last thing Tony needed to add to his guilt list was accidentally revealing Peter’s secret identity to his aunt. The kid would probably never forgive him if that happened.

“I’ll have someone come pick you up on the exact moment I find him”, Tony promised, placing another hand on May’s shoulder. She stared at him with incredulity and anger. “If you come along now, you’ll only get in the way”, he explained.

“Get in the _way_?”, she frowned, sounding almost offended.

“I need space to work, and you can’t be at the workshop with me”, Tony tried to reason, ending up sounding like his usual “I-know-it-all” self. “You’ll be safer if you stay home”, he pointed out.

“So the huge, expensive building you own doesn’t have _any_ spare rooms where I can stay while you look for my missing nephew?”, she squinted her eyes, accusing.  Tony opened his mouth to answer, but she cut him off before he could even think of the words he wanted to say. “If you don’t take me with you, I’ll just take a cab to the facility and wait there until you find Peter”, she threatened, unrelenting. Tony shook his head, anxious to go back to the workshop already and see what Friday had found.

“What if he manages to escape before I get to him and he comes back here, huh?”, Tony pointed out, raising another eyebrow at her. He knew that the argument was cheap, but it was his last resource. The last thing he needed was to have a worried May wandering around the building, on the top of a worried Rhodey and a worried Happy. She, however, stared at him with determined eyes. “What if he gets here and there’s no one home?”, he tilted his head, insistent and just as stubborn as her.

“How would he manage to _escape_?”, May frowned, looking at Tony as if he was a lunatic. There was a tiny hint of suspicion deep in her eyes that made Tony’s heart skip a beat in fear that he could have accidentally snitched on the kid’s secret. “He’s only a kid, he’s barely _sixteen_ , how could he _possibly_ escape from these criminals?”

“He’s a smart kid”, Tony swallowed dry after only a moment of hesitation. He cleared his throat as if to hide his nervousness. “If anyone could escape from dangerous thugs and stroll back home like it was nothing, that’s Peter. And he’ll need you when he gets here”, he said, facing away from May for a few moments before looking at her. She seemed to doubt his words for a few moments, staring intently at Tony as if to read him, but eventually her shoulders dropped in resignation and she sighed heavily.

“I don’t like this, Tony”, she admitted, crossing her arms above her chest and staring blankly at the floor. “Knowing he’s out there, all alone, in danger… How can I just sit home and _wait_?”, she stared at him with pleading eyes, begging him to understand.

“I know”, he said, apologetic. He _did_ understand. “But there’s not much you can do other than wait right now. Even if you were to come to the facility with me”, he explained. She worried at her lower lip and shook her head again, a grim, sorrowful expression overcoming her face. He took a step closer to her. “I’ll bring him back. That’s a promise”.

She stared up at him with resentment and accusation in her glistening eyes.

“You’d better”, she said simply. Sharply. Tony pretended it didn’t send yet another stab of guilt through his chest. “Because this… this is not ok”, she added, letting her purse fall on the floor beside the couch and sitting down heavily, as if unable to keep standing anymore. “This is really, _really_ not ok”, she covered her face with both hands.

“I know”, he repeated, swallowing past the lump in his throat and thankful that she had her back turned to him, thus unable to see the grief in his face. He stood in silence by the front door while she sat on the couch, doubled over herself with her elbows leaning on her knees. He couldn’t tell if she was crying.

“When he comes back, I…”, she said, voice tight with emotion. “We… We are going to need to talk about this. Because this – this can’t go on”, she gestured vaguely.

Tony stood in silence.

“He’s not _your_ _kid_ ”, she continued, sounding like she was on the verge of crying. “You’re rich, and you’re _Iron Man,_ and that makes you have _a lot_ of enemies. He can’t get targeted whenever people want to get to you, just because everyone thinks he’s your –”, she trailed off, shaking her head in grief.

Tony felt as if his insides were drained, and all that was left was a never-ending emptiness that made him hollow of anything except for the constant ache in his heart. He was very aware of the blankness of his face as he took in the words, and felt as if his whole body was numb. Because what could he possibly say in his defense? She was _right_.

People who got close to him – people who cared about him – always got hurt. Pepper, Happy, Rhodey, Yinsen, that damn soldier who was only a kid and who had died protecting him on Afghanistan – they had all gotten hurt because of him. The last thing he wanted was for _Peter_ to follow the same path – all he ever wanted was for the kid to be _better_. Even if that meant they would have to be apart.

He couldn’t protect the others in the past, but he would protect Peter in the future. No matter the consequences.

His chest ached.

May turned on the couch to face him when he didn’t respond anything, an apologetic look in her tear-filled eyes. He gave him a sad, almost sympathetic, sigh.

“I’m sorry”, she said, sounding sincere. “But I _have_ to think of what’s best for him”.

Tony nodded once.

“I understand”, he said simply; plainly. “I’ll let you know as soon as I have any news on him”.

He left the apartment without another word, wishing the outcome of his conversation with May could have been as simple as punch to his face.

 

 

 

 

As soon as Peter effortlessly snapped the ropes binding his wrists, he got to work on the ropes binding his ankles to the feet of the chair. He knew he didn’t have much time – the henchman watching him was probably just taking a power nap, and would wake up any moment now. Before he could manage to release his right leg, however, the hairs on Peter’s arms stood up in alarm and his spider-sense told him that there was someone coming.

Freeing his legs was more difficult that freeing his wrists – he couldn’t simply snap the ropes around his ankle in the same way. Releasing his legs from their bindings was more demanding, because he had to untie the ropes around them and, thus, it took more time. Whoever was approaching the room would get there faster than Peter could resume releasing his bindings, and he couldn’t afford to put up a fight against the Scorpion without risking Aunt May’s safety – or his own. He did the only thing he could at the moment – wrapping the rope around his free leg to make it look like it was still tied up to the chair. He did the same thing to his wrists, at the exact same time the door opened and someone entered the room. Peter did his best to look as still as he could, hoping that no one bothered to check his lose bindings.

In no time, the Scorpion strolled into his field of vision, looking smug and almost curious. He watched Peter closely as he walked past him, heading straight to where the henchman assigned to watch the boy was sitting, fast asleep. Peter didn’t realize he was holding his breath as Gargan nudged the man’s leg with his foot. The man snored and shifted on the floor, which resulted on Gargan nudging him again, this time with more force.

This was enough to wake the man up, and it only took him one second to realize what was happening. As soon as he spotted Gargan standing right beside him, he jumped to his feet, face pale and clearly embarrassed for being caught sleeping. He ran a hand through his hair and stretched his shoulder with nervousness, clutching his gun closer to himself and staring at Gargan with wide eyes.

“H-hey, man”, he greeted anxiously, after Gargan did nothing other than just stare at him.

“You care to explain what the _hell_ you were doing?”, Gargan asked calmly, in that venomous tone of voice that only he seemed to be able to muster. The man blinked several times and stuttered before coming up with a response.

“Sorry, dude, I fell asleep”, he said, not meeting Gargan’s eyes. “It won’t happen again. I – I didn’t mean to”, he added, afraid.

“Yeah?”, Gargan raised an eyebrow, taking a step towards him. The man instinctively took a step back. “You’re telling me you didn’t mean for the hostage to escape, either?”

The man frowned in confusion, eyes darting from Gargan’s scowling face to where Peter was sitting, pretending that he was still tied up to the chair. Peter watched the interaction with sharp attention, doing his best to stay levelheaded should things escalate.

“But he’s right there”, the man pointed a finger at Peter, confused. Garged sighed, rubbing a hand at the back of his head before sucker punching the henchman with all his might. The man fell back, conscious but disoriented, taking a shaking hand to his nose and watching the blood that flowed out of it with shock. He stared up at Gargan with wide eyes from where he was sprawled on the floor.

“Keep your fucking eyes open from now on”, Gargan spat out simply, before turning on his heels and marching his way over to Peter. The boy’s heart began to race as the Scorpion approached him, the dark look in his eyes indicating that he _knew_.

There was no use in trying to free his tied leg in an attempt to flee – the Scorpion’s hands were already on him, holding him by the collar of his shirt and pulling him up from the chair. The loose ropes that Peter had twisted around his free leg fell to the floor limply, and Gargan yanked the ropes that Peter was holding around his wrists, putting an end to his weak attempt to make it look like he was still tied up. Gargan scoffed, pushing Peter back on the chair with violence and throwing the ropes to the side as if they were no longer of any use.

“So you were trying to escape, huh?”, Gargan said sarcastically, giving Peter a grin that looked more disdainful than anything else. Peter sat at the chair, one of his legs still tied, staring up at the Scorpion with defiance in his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to simply snap the leg of the chair in half and jump at Gargan, but the Vulture’s warning – or rather, his threat – echoed inside his head and prevented him from taking action. _Think of Aunt May_. “What about the talk we had about not doing anything stupid?”, Gargan added, sounding fake-disappointed. Peter did nothing other than glare at him. The man scoffed. “I bet you think you’re real smart, don’t you?”, he shook his head in disgust. “So what, you thought you’d be able to make a run for it and no one would find out?”, he mocked.

“I don’t know, man; maybe you should hire some criminals who actually _know_ how to tie the hostages up, on your next kidnapping”, Peter talked back before he could really think about it. It seemed that taunting his enemies during threatening situations was becoming a habit of his.

His reply didn’t seem to please the Scorpion, however, because it resulted on a fist meeting his face. Peter’s head snapped to the side due to the blow, but the hit barely hurt him. Surely, the skin of his cheek tingled because of the harsh punch, but he had dealt with much worse in the past and the Scorpion’s blow was like a tingle compared to his previous fights. Maybe this man wasn’t as dangerous as Toomes had made him believe – maybe the Vulture had just been trying to scare Peter into submission.

“If I were you, I’d keep my damn mouth shut from now on”, Gargan said, bending forwards so that he could talk to Peter eye-to-eye. Peter stared back at him without any trace of intimidation in his eyes. “God knows I ain’t got no patience for brats like you, especially when they think they’re smart”, he scoffed.

“Then let me go and your problem will be solved”, Peter said, shrugging. “I’m not a great fan of your presence, either, so that’d be killing two birds with one stone”.

Gargan snarled, standing up straight again and smiling lightly for a few moments. He shook his head with something akin to disgust before turning back to face the henchman he had punched, two hands leaning on his hips as if he was planning his vacations, rather than threatening a teenager. The henchman, who had managed to get back to his feet, was nursing his broken nose while leaning his back on the wall.

“Yo, sleeping beauty”, Gargan called out, catching the man’s attention. “Be useful for once and grab those wires back at the surveillance room for me”, he ordered. The man stared at him with anger for a few moments before complying with the order and leaving the room in order to fetch the wires. Gargan tuned back towards Peter. “I’d like to see you get out of these ones, now, kid”, he commented with amusement, chuckling to himself as he bent down. To Peter’s surprise, the man untied the rope that was still tying Peter’s leg to the chair, tossing it to the side with dismissal.

A thousand thoughts were rushing through Peter’s head. In one hand, Gargan had just basically set him free. He was very much aware that Peter was now free of all his bindings, so _he_ would be the one to blame if Peter managed to sprint to the door and escape. On the other hand, Peter knew that Toomes couldn’t care less about _whose_ fault it was that Peter escaped – escaping, on its own, would still qualify as getting in the way of the Vulture’s plans, and _the Vulture knew where Aunt May lived_. If word got to Toomes that Peter had run away, he would most definitely reveal Peter’s identity to his enemies and do everything in his power to hurt his aunt. And Peter couldn’t have that.

He felt anger and frustration blossom inside his chest upon the realization there was nothing he could do to run away without endangering Aunt May. There he was, sitting free, unbound, _absolutely capable of escaping_ , and yet, he couldn’t. Not without risking her life. Not without risking his identity. He wanted nothing more than to punch Gargan square on the face and run, but the fear that someone told Toomes about his escape before he could get to his aunt to protect her was the only thing stopping him from standing up.

“Aren’t you gonna run, kid?”, Gargan teased, crouched in front of Peter. He shrugged and gestured at the boy’s limbs, as if to indicate he was free. “You ain’t tied up anymore”, he pointed out, teasing.

Peter glared at the man in front of him, every cell in his body begging him to stand up and run away while he still could. But if he did, Toomes would know. And if Toomes knew, he would hurt Aunt May. Peter couldn’t have that. He sat in silence, never breaking eye contact with the Scorpion. The smug smile slowly disappeared from Gargan’s face, giving place to a displeased expression that had a hint of suspicion to it.

“Why aren’t you running?”, Gargan asked, squinting his eyes slightly at Peter. Upon the boy’s silence, he got to his feet, standing tall above Peter’s sitting form. “When I ask you a question you _answer me_ ”, he hissed menacingly, hand reaching instinctively to the knife holster glued to his hip as if to intimidate Peter.

“I thought you said I was supposed to keep my mouth shut”, Peter said, blinking slowly and feigning innocence. Gargan snarled in anger and removed his knife from the holster, ready to teach Peter a lesson for being so insolent, but before he could do anything, the henchman returned with the requested wires, handing them over to Gargan with nothing more than a nod. Peter noticed the tissues shoved up the man’s bleeding nose, which was crooked and already bruising. The Scorpion smirked with deviousness as he turned to look at Peter, waving the wires in front of him as if to make a point.

“Time’s up now, Pete”, he teased, putting his knife away without thinking twice and crouching back down in front of the boy. He untangled the wire and began to wrap it around one of Peter’s ankles, binding it to the chair. The boy frowned, pulling back and attempting to get to his feet. The wires were made of metal and were also very thin, thin enough to cut through Peter’s skin if they were tied too tightly. Gargan laughed out loud at Peter’s reaction, placing a hand at the top of the boy’s knee to push him back to his seat. Peter struggled again, hissing loudly when Gargan pulled the wire tightly around his ankle. “Oh, so _now_ you want to run? I was starting to think you were enjoying your stay”, he teased. “Hey, Eddie, get your ass over here and help me tie this brat up”, he shouted over his shoulder to the man with the broken nose.

The man – Eddie – walked over to the scene, looking reluctant and still considerably pissed off at Gargan for breaking his nose. Peter was having a really hard time deciding what to do – if he escaped, Aunt May would be in danger, but if he stayed, they would tie him up with wires. He wouldn’t be able to break free from them without potentially hurting himself. The metal dug into the skin of his ankle as Gargan continued to tie it up with cruel strength, and he hissed again, pulling against the restraint despite of his rationality telling him not to.

 “Are you sure about this, man?”, Eddie asked, reluctant. “He’s just a kid. Toomes said we shouldn’t hurt him, or Stark would come after us”.

“Wow, you really are dumb as shit, aren’t you?”, Gargan scoffed with annoyance, sparing the man a simple glimpse before returning to the task at hands. “Stark’s gonna hunt us no matter what we do to him. This way we make sure kid won’t try to run away again next time you decide to take a nap”, he bickered.

Eddie sighed in discontent but crouched down beside Gargan anyway, taking care of Peter’s ankles while the Scorpion moved to tie the boy’s wrists behind his back. Peter’s heart was beating fast inside his chest, begging him to just get up and get away while he still could, but one single sentence from Gargan, after Peter tried to instinctively shrug away from him, was enough to make his struggles die with an undertone of bitterness:

“If you don’t want Toomes to hear about this little endeavor, you’re gonna sit very still and not fight back”.

So Peter sat very still and didn’t fight back.

He couldn’t risk Aunt May’s life like that. Especially not when Adrian Toomes was involved.

Gargan tied Peter’s hands with unnecessary tightness, making the material of the wires dig painfully into his skin. As long as Peter sat very still, his bindings didn’t hurt, but whenever he shifted on his seat or tried to flex his sore shoulders, he felt the metal cutting deeper and deeper into his flesh. It didn’t take too long for him to feel warm blood running down his hands and fingers after he moved and wriggled too many times, but since the Scorpion had also shoved a gag into his mouth after he was done tying him up, the muffled sob Peter let out at the pain went unheard by his captors.

He decided he wouldn’t give these criminals the satisfaction of seeing him cry, but he _really_ wanted to. He had an enhanced metabolism and usually, his injuries healed fast, but with the wires constantly digging into his skin and reopening his wounds like that, he couldn’t quite heal himself. Peter didn’t think that he had damaged an artery or anything important, since the blood was merely oozing down his hands, rather than flowing, but what bothered him the most was the _pain_. He had an incredibly high tolerance for pain, but these wires were cutting into him with every breath he took and he just _couldn’t heal_ himself. It burned, and it hurt, but he never, not even for one moment, considered ignoring Toomes’ threat and jeopardizing May’s safety over his own will to get away. He felt alone, and trapped, and helpless, as helpless as he had ever felt before, because he had all and every single means he needed in order to escape, but couldn’t use any of them.

Peter’s only hope now was Tony, no matter how embarrassed and utterly pathetic that prospect made the boy feel. Not because he didn’t trust Tony to find him – but because he had wanted nothing more than to _prove_ himself to the man. He had wanted to prove to Tony that he was fully capable of freeing himself from his captors and handling the situation without help, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t pretend May’s life wasn’t at risk.

If only he could speak to Tony, even if just for a moment. If only he could ask the man to protect his aunt – then Peter would be able to escape, and kick these guys’ asses, and go back home without having to feel this pain or being used as a coin. He didn’t want Tony to pay a ransom for him – he didn’t want _these people_ to have any of Tony’s money. He didn’t want to be rescued like a weak, wimpy loser; like the weak, wimpy loser he used to be before he was bit by the spider – he wanted to be a hero. But being a hero could cost his aunt’s life.

Peter cursed himself when a tear finally strolled down his cheek, escaping his eyes despite of his best attempts to hold it back. He wished, more than he ever had before, he could talk to Tony. Tony always knew what to do – he had been stuck as a hostage in a cave all the way across the world, and he still came back home more victorious than ever. Peter wished he could be like him, even though the billionaire insisted he wanted Peter to be better.

He wished he could hear Tony’s voice. He wished he could tell Tony that he could handle this, as long as he kept Aunt May safe. If he kept her safe, Peter could barge out and arrest these guys before they could reveal his identity as Spider-Man to anyone else. If only Tony knew. If only there was a way to _make_ Tony know.

He ended up passing out, eventually. He couldn’t tell whether it was just from the exhaustion, from the pain, or from either. He was enveloped in a comforting darkness; head lolled forwards, even though the gag in his mouth made it difficult for him to breathe properly.

He dreamed of Tony calling him ‘kiddo’ and telling him that everything would be ok, while ruffling his hair with a special mixture of protectiveness and affection that he seemed to reserve only for Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Aunt May voice] Too angsty? Not angsty _enough_?  
>  Let me know!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a description of a panic attack on the first section of this chapter, so be careful reading!

His grip on his tablet was so strong that it was doomed to damage the touch screen.

As soon as Tony arrived at the workshop, his first command for Friday was to make the footage from the drone available for him on the nearest device, which happened to be the tablet sitting idly beside his computer desk. Tony picked it up and watched the images his drone had retrieved from the location he had tracked.

And then he sat there, holding the tablet.

And he sat there.

He sat there.

He kept holding the device as if it was a lifeline, unable to let go even after the screen automatically turned itself off; even after his tense shoulders grew stiff and his limbs ached for sitting in the same position for too long. He lost track of time and of his surroundings – all he could see were the images, the pictures, the obviously purposeful taunting behind this whole endeavor.

Because Peter hadn’t been at that location, and his kidnappers _knew_ that Tony would try to track the phone call. They _knew_ – they had purposefully lead Tony into that location, aware that he would fall for the bait. Perhaps they had expected him to go in person like an amateur would, and god knows what would have happened if he had done that – but they _knew_ that he would get eyes on the location all the same. And Friday had been right – god bless her perfect programming – when she had told Tony that it wasn’t advisable to watch that kind of footage in front of anyone else, let alone May Parker. Tony would have shivered at the thought of seeing these images in front of anyone else, if he had been able to move.

He was faintly aware that Friday was talking to him, but her voice sounded distant and muffled and as if coming from underwater. Tony wouldn’t have been able to make out the words even if he had tried – and he definitely wasn’t trying. No, he could do nothing but sit there and stare at the empty screen of his tablet, shoulders and limbs aching, but none of them harder than his heart. His heart – the poor thing – was beating madly inside his chest, leaping and skipping and desperately pumping Tony’s blood with an adrenaline that he didn’t need to use – he wasn’t under immediate danger. If the tight feeling around his lungs, the ringing of his ears, and the lightheaded feeling he was getting from the lack of air were anything to go by, it was very probable that he was having a panic attack.

As this realization finally dawned upon him, his shaky fingers loosened their grip and he dropped the tablet to the floor with a clack that was way louder than he expected. He instinctively flinched, because the sound had been loud and metallic and overwhelming, and a second ago he had been completely unaware of anything that was happening around him, but now it felt like reality had entered into focus – as if it had been sharpened by a tenfold. His overly sensitive ears finally managed to catch up with Friday was telling him, now in a frantic, urgent tone.

“Boss! Boss, your heart rate is too elevated. You need to seek medical assistance. Boss. _Boss_. If you remain unresponsive, I _will_ be forced to follow protocol ILD/223. _Boss!_ ”

“Don’t”, Tony managed to choke out, his voice breathless and raspy. He still couldn’t breathe, he still felt as if he was drowning, and he felt stupid, so, _so stupid_ , because this was exactly what Peter’s kidnappers wanted. They wanted him weak, and panicked, and on his knees, and _oh shit_ , he tried to get up but his wobbly knees couldn’t hold his weight up and he ended up sliding ungracefully to the floor, trying to at least lean on the chair behind him but only managing to cling to it as his legs deserted him. He felt stupid, ridiculous, and, most of all, pathetic, because he was giving these people what they wanted. He was playing their game. He couldn’t afford that.

But he couldn’t unsee the images, either.

The drone had arrived at a deserted location – where exactly, Tony hadn’t bothered to look into –, but it was in the middle of a thick forest that had a cave deep behind its trees.

A fucking _cave_ , of all things.

The drone made a video recording of its path towards the cave, and as it entered the dark, most-likely damp place, Tony could see boxes over boxes with his name printed on them, and weapons _with his name_ laying around, and even a prototype of a missile with the goddamn word “STARK” printed on it in white. This was clearly the kidnapper’s attempt to make a callback to Afghanistan – the missile looked like it was trying to mimic Jericho, even though Tony could tell, just from a video feed, that even if that design was finished, it would never be as powerful – or utterly damaging – as _his_ Jericho from all those years back.

 _Ten years back_ , he told himself mentally, trying to keep focus on reality _. It was ten years back. You’re no longer there. You’re back home_.

The weapons and the boxes, alone, would have been enough to make Tony angry _–furious_ – and more determined to find Peter than ever. But it wasn’t just the images.

As the drone entered the cave further, using Tony’s enhanced scans to try and find out if there were any life forms inside the place, the billionaire could see several pictures hanging from the wall. At first, Tony didn’t really understand what they were doing there or what they were showing – but his heart stopped as soon as he understood.

They were pictures of his torture.

Not only his torture – his _torturers_ , the original cave from Afghanistan; even Obadiah was there. Everything. _Everything_ came back as vividly as it had been ten years prior, and even though Tony was aware that he was at his workshop, that he was in _America_ , he couldn’t help but to feel the trickle of water running down his neck from after they waterboarded him. He couldn’t help but to feel his sternum ache and burn as Yinsen operated him, still awake, still _aware_. He couldn’t help but to have his nose invaded by the godawful smell of the cave, of sweat and burning steel, and the lithium from the car battery he used as a heart. He couldn’t help remembering, he couldn’t help living that again in his head. So he had sat there, very still, wide eyes glued to the tablet as if not wanting to miss any details.

What finally sent him into a shellshocked state was the note on the wall, right beneath a photo of Tony sitting tied up with his kidnappers standing behind him on his first day in captivity. He recognized the photo as being from the video sent to Obadiah, and he had no fucking idea how the people who had kidnapped Peter had gotten their hands on that. He had made sure to delete all the details and footage of his time in Afghanistan, exactly so that people wouldn’t be able to use it against him. However, the photo and its origins were the least of his concerns, because beneath it, there was a note that made his breath catch in his throat.

_Try to find us again and Pete will get the same treatment_

He felt sick. But he sat there.

And now he was on the floor, gasping for air, feeling like he was about to puke but hanging onto the thin thread of whatever dignity he had left to stop himself from doing so. The tablet’s screen was cracked from when Tony had dropped it, and Friday was still talking to him, still asking stupid questions about protocol-whatever and talking things about his heart, oh _fuck_ , his heart, _his heart_ , his heart was going to be thorn by shrapnel and he would _die_ and before he knew better, he was yanking his button-shirt open in order to stare at his own chest and make sure the reactor was still there.

It wasn’t. All that was there was flesh, and skin, and a light, white scar in the form of a circle where the reactor used to be before the surgery.

He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or more desperate at the absence.

Flashbacks kept coming and going, and he could have sworn that his hair was dripping wet from the waterboarding – it would only make sense, since he couldn’t _breathe_ – until he took shaky fingers to his head and found it to be dry. He curled his own fingers around the strands of hair, pulling it in order to provoke sensorial stimulation. He needed to stay grounded. He needed to calm the heck down and _breathe_ and get it together because this wasn’t about him, this was about _Peter_ , and Peter was still in the hands of the kidnappers, and he was still gone, and Tony still needed to save him. He couldn’t let them torture Peter. They couldn’t let them turn Peter into _him_.

The thought of Peter getting waterboarded, a hole bigger than a fist on his sternum and wires emerging from it, connecting him to a car battery, was what finally made Tony puke, spilling the contents of his empty stomach all over the floor. The sight and the smell of bile only made his more sick, but there was nothing left in his stomach for him to expel. He dry-heaved, alternating between gasping for breath and making those horrible sounds, until he could no longer stand the smell and crawled away from the mess, still unable to get to his feet.

“G-g-get that cleared up”, Tony instructed Friday, pointing a finger to the offensive puddle on the floor without looking at it and trying to use his desk as leverage for him to at least get off the floor and sit on his rolling chair. His arms were shaking too hard for him to succeed, but he persevered until he managed to yank himself into the chair, dropping heavily on it and the momentum of his body falling into it making it roll several feet away, until it was halted by the wall behind him. He still couldn’t breathe. His chest was aching now. There was a disgusting taste inside his mouth. All he could focus on were his own fingers pulling at his hair viciously and the arhythmical pounding of his heart beneath his ribcage. He needed to focus. He needed to get back to reality and _focus_.

Then Rhodey was there.

Relief flooded Tony in the same instant his friend’s worried face came into focus before his eyes, because it had been Rhodey who saved him back in Afghanistan, so he’d be able to save him again. He could _always_ count on Rhodey – that much was for sure. Rhodey was always there for him. Rhodey was his best friend.

Rhodey was giving him the most pitiful, sorrowful look Tony had ever seen, and the way it made him feel pathetic and vulnerable made him want to puke all over the place again.

“Rhodey”, he breathed out instead, aware that his friend was saying something to him, but he couldn’t really understand. Friday must have called the man to the workshop, upon Tony’s unresponsiveness. The fact that his A.I. had gone against his direct orders – Tony wasn’t really able to keep track of reality at that moment, but he was pretty sure he had barked out a “don’t” when Friday offered to apply the ILD protocol – indicated that the state of his health was worse than he had bothered to imagine.

“Hey, Tones, I’m here”, Rhodes said, slowly crouching down in front of him with his brow creased in worry. “Is it ok if I touch you?”, his friend ask. Tony swallowed dry, now painfully aware of how fast his chest was rising and falling, and gave Rhodes a small, shaking nod, even though he felt embarrassed. Every single one of his instincts – the instincts that Howard had successfully embedded into his head – were yelling for him to hide, and get a grip of himself, and just _man up_ instead of allowing Rhodes to see how utterly pathetic and weak he was.

But where Howard had been cruel, Rhodey had always been gentle to him. Where Howard had been abusive, Rhodey had been loving, and where Howard had been disdainful, Rhodey had been concerned. He’d rather listen to Rhodey than to Howard any day. He was one of the only few people around which Tony allowed himself to put his guard down.

Rhodey placed a comforting hand on the top of Tony’s knee, and Tony suddenly realized how painful and difficult it must be to his friend to be crouched down like that, given his condition. The device Tony had designed to aid him walk again was very advanced, but it could only do so much, and crouching down was not one of the top features. He needed to work on that, by the way.

“Friday called me in”, Rhodes explained, using that assertive tone he always did whenever he was worried about Tony. He was still frowning, his grip firm on Tony’s knee. Tony’s hands were shaking. “She said you were in life danger. What happened? Are you ok?”

“She’s exaggerating”, Tony huffed out, still having trouble to catch his breath properly but feeling more relieved and confident now that Rhodes was there with him. “ _And_ cheating on me”, he turned his head to glare at the nearest camera before looking at Rhodes again.

“I was only obeying my prime directive, Boss”, Friday justified, not bothering to put any apology in her tone.

“Which is?”, Rhodes raised an eyebrow.

“To protect me”, Tony explained, running a tired hand through his face and hair before slumping back against the chair, Rhodes’ hand still on his knee. The touched helped him stay grounded to reality, rather than the spiraling spree he had experienced a few minutes before.

“From _what_?”, Rhodes urged, worry so evident in his eyes that Tony felt guilty. “I still don’t know what happened. I was working on finding Peter down at the lab and Friday called me in, saying you were in danger and that her protocols required her to call me –“

“She shouldn’t have”, Tony interrupted sharply, almost managing to sound resentful, rather than scared. He found strength to get to his feet abruptly, miraculously not falling on his ass like an idiot immediately. As much as he trusted Rhodes, he didn’t want his best friend to make a fuss, so he tried his best to put on a controlled façade even though his chest was still constricted with the lack of air reaching his lungs.

Without looking at Rhodes, and without waiting for him to ask, Tony offered him a hand to help him get back to his feet. Rhodes glared at him for a moment before slapping his hand into Tony’s, accepting the aid and getting back into a standing position with little more than a grunt.

“I’m fine”, Tony added once his friend was standing beside him, not meeting his eyes and leaning over his computer desk as he still tried to regain his composure. His breathing was evening out, now, even though his throat felt dry and his hands were still shaking so hard it was difficult to support his weight.

“The hell you are”, Rhodes argued, sounding hurt and concerned. He shifted his position so that he could face Tony, even though the billionaire’s head was hanging low as he tried to keep it together in front of his best friend. Noticing this, Rhodes’ expression softened. “Tones. You know you don’t have to pretend with me”, he reassured, well-aware of his friend’s trust issues and difficulty to talk about his feelings. “I’ve known you for years, and I’ve seen you way worse than this. Just tell me what’s going on”, he said, and it wasn’t a request. Tony knew better than to try and hide things from Rhodes, because the man knew him better than he probably knew himself, so he just sighed and waved a dismissing hand.

“Show him, Fri”, Tony instructed, turning his back away from the man. He couldn’t bear to see those images again. He just _couldn’t_. Far at the corner, Dum-E had been assigned with the task to clean up after Tony’s disgusting mess on the floor. A spark of sympathy from his bot made his still racing heart warm up a bit more.

“What’s this?”, Rhodes asked, confused, as the first minutes of the drone’s recordings appeared on the nearest computer screen to him. Remembering that he hadn’t told his friend about the second call or the drone sent to the tracked location, Tony mentally cursed himself.

“Gargan called earlier, and I tracked the call. I got a location and sent a drone to see whether it was a trap, or if they were really holding Peter there”, Tony explained, back still turned to Rhodes. He couldn’t bear the sight of the puke anymore, so he closed his eyes, trying to ignore the flashes of caves and torture tools and Obadiah that appeared behind his lids. He missed the glimpse of betrayal Rhodes sent him for not telling him about all this before. “As you’ll see, Peter’s not there”, Tony added grievously.

Rhodey stayed in silence for the remaining time of the video, concentrating on watching, and Tony stood with his back turned and his eyes closed, still struggling to calm his racing heart. He knew that his blood pressure must be up the roof and that he would probably need to take some meds before he ended up putting himself to the ER. The last thing he needed at that moment was to be stuck in a hospital while Peter still needed him.

“ _Jesus_ , Tony”, Rhodes whispered once the video ended, the horror in his voice evident and making Tony shiver despite of himself. He swallowed dry again, trying his best, trying with _all his might_ , not to remember the images from the drone. If he did, he would lose it again. He was sure of it. “How did these people even got those photos?”, he asked, turning to see Tony standing very still and with his back turned to him, hands still shaking.

“I don’t know”, Tony shook his head in frustration, allowing it to drop. Breathing was so difficult. “It doesn’t really matter right now, does it? You saw their messages. You saw what they will do –“

“Of course it matters”, Rhodes frowned, taking a step closer to him. “These are personal. They knew what they were doing; they knew how this would affect you”.

“Yeah”, Tony scoffed in self-deprecation. “And I’m dancing to their song just like they want me to”.

“No”, it was Rhodes’ time to shake his head, stepping in front of Tony so that he could look his friend in the eye. “You’re not thinking”, he warned, tone a bit too condescending for Tony’s fragile state of mind.

“Way to comfort a guy who just had a panic attack, colonel”, Tony scoffed again, sarcastically, turning his head away from Rhodes in disgust at both himself and his friend.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it”, Rhodes rolled his eyes, placing a hand at Tony’s shoulder as if to call his attention. The billionaire looked up, and the sight of him made Rhodes’ heart ache inside his chest. He looked younger, somehow; eyes red rimmed, face pale and hair disheveled exactly in the way Rhodes found him so many times, after parties and hangovers and fights with Howard. In fact, Tony looked just like he had when Rhodes found him at his workshop, right at the beginning of his palladium poisoning back in 2010. He looked unhealthy, and worried, and a _mess_. And he _clearly_ wasn’t thinking straight. “Think about it, Tones. You deleted everything from Afghanistan, even from S.H.I.E.L.D. servers”, Rhodes insisted, trying to make his best friend catch up with his train of thought. “The only place where they could have found these is your personal server”.

If possible, Tony’s face paled even more as he stared up at Rhodes with wide, shocked eyes. His lips parted and his breath caught in his throat. Rhodes could sense another attack coming.

“Tones, calm down –“, he tried to say, but before he could continue or do anything else, Tony was spinning on his heels and sprinting towards the nearest computer.

“Shit”, he said under his breath, sitting heavily on a rolling chair and beginning to type something down. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit_!”, he exclaimed, fingers flying over the board faster than Rhodes could pick up. “ _Fuck!_ ”, he finalized, running his fingers through his already unruly hair. “They’re in. They’re fucking _in_ , how the hell did they manage to do that?”

“Tony, you gotta breathe –“, Rhodes tried to say again, concerned about his friend. Tony was shaking harder than before, but there was a new concentration and determination in his eyes that hadn’t been there when Rhodes first arrived at the shop.

“It must have been the _goddamn_ alien tech”, Tony scoffed, shaking his head like a mad man. “I’ve got to run tests”, he added, ignoring Rhodes completely and sounding like he was talking to himself. “I’ve got to make sure Friday wasn’t compromised, I’ve got – I – I’ve got –“

“Tony”, Rhodes said sternly, grabbing the rolling chair and turning it around so that he could face Tony. “ _Calm. Down_ ”, he instructed. He was very aware that telling a panicking person – especially one who struggled with anxiety – to simply calm down wasn’t the best course of action, but Tony was looking like he had just run a non-stop marathon. His heart wouldn’t be able to handle this much stress for long if he kept pushing it like that. “I know you’re stressed right now, but you’ve got to breathe and take a break, alright?”, he said, as if speaking to a child. Tony stared at him as if he had lost his damn mind.

“What the _hell_ are you talking about?”, Tony asked, sounding almost offended. “ _Take a break_? There are criminals inside my _personal server_ , Rhodes, how the fuck am I supposed to calm down? What else can they know? What else do they _have_?”

“If they had much else they wouldn’t have kidnapped Peter in the first place”, Rhodes tried to reason, aware of how caught up in his own panic Tony could get whenever he was freaking out. “You said Gargan called again earlier. What did he say?”

“He wanted money”, Tony explained, looking at Rhodes as if he thought talking about that was a waste of time. “Asked for a deposit. I made the deposit to buy myself time and he said he’d send me a list of weapons and an address for me to deliver them. Hasn’t sent anything yet”, he shook his head, but realization dawned in his eyes. “But why would he have asked for the weapons when he’s literally hacked my personal server? He could have them delivered any time he wanted”, Tony frowned, turning around again and going back to typing something down on the computer.

“Maybe he didn’t get that far in”, Rhodes suggested, leaning behind Tony so that he could see what his friend was typing down. “Maybe he couldn’t only get some data, but not everything”.

“Or maybe he was stupid enough to think that my personal server and Stark Industries’ are one and the same”, Tony commented. His voice still had a shaking tone to it, but he was sounding more like his snarky, usual self now that he had something to spend all his adrenaline on. His fingers were typing madly on the board, so fast that Rhodes could barely keep up. “Et voilà”, Tony finally said after a couple of minutes, leaning back against the rest of his chair and gesturing at the screen as if it was a work of art. “They really _are_ dumb”.

“They hacked into your personal server”, Rhodes pointed out with a raised eyebrow. “I wouldn’t exactly call them dumb”.

“No, yeah, that definitely takes genius-level intellect to do, but they could have just hired someone to do it for them”, Tony said, anxiety momentarily forgotten now that he had something to occupy himself with. “And they certainly had help of alien tech, there’s no other explanation. But they _are_ dumb, because their original plan was probably to just hack into my server and get all the weapons they wanted. They’re worth more than the money I gave them, anyway”, he shrugged. “Top-notch tech, everything a criminal could have ever dreamed of. The guy they hired to hack into the server mustn’t have been cheap, and when they found out they told him to hack the wrong server, they probably didn’t want to pay him another job. Or maybe they couldn’t afford it. So they decided to work with what they already had”.

“Your personal info”, Rhodes nodded, keeping up with Tony’s train of thought.

“Precisely. So, they have a bunch of pathetic pictures of me being tortured, possibly some embarrassing voicemails I left for Pepper and –“, Tony suddenly trailed off, face falling. The look of sickness and horror on his face alarmed Rhodes. “Oh”, he whispered quietly.

“What’s ‘oh’?”, Rhodes asked, concerned. “Tony?”

“Shit”, his friend huffed a heavy breath through his nose, rubbing two tired hands across his face and crossing his arms above his chest. “I have a – um”, he hesitated, embarrassed. “A folder. With some stuff”, he swallowed dry, as if struggling to find the words. “From – from Peter”.

Rhodes was silent for a few seconds.

“From… Peter?”, he finally asked after computing what Tony was telling him. His friend sighed again, lowering his head and looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

“Look, the kid’s sensitive, ok?”, Tony told Rhodes, sounding like he was trying to justify himself. “He likes this sort of thing. Sending pictures of stuff that reminds him of me, sending some dumb selfies of field trips, stuff like that. It’s kid stuff. Not a big deal”, he waved a hand. Rhodes couldn’t help but to smirk.

“And you keep it?”, he teased, broadly smiling now. Tony looked like it was taking every ounce of self-control in his body not to blush.

“Yes, I _keep_ it, Rhodes; I’m not some heartless monster about to delete the selfies the kid sends me”, he said, not meeting his friend’s eyes. “But that’s not the _point_ ”, he noted, desperate to change the subject. “The point is that they must have gotten _that_ when they broke into the server, too. And whatever info they had on Peter being my son – me keeping stuff that he sends me must have confirmed it”, he swallowed dry again, his face going back to bearing a guilty expression.

Rhodes was about to reassure Tony that none of this was his fault when a dreadful thought crossed his mind and made his stomach drop.

“Tony”, he called, barely managing to keep the fear from his voice. His tone made his friend snap his head to look at him, apprehensive. “You – you don’t keep Spider-Man stuff at your personal server, do you?”

Tony’s eyes widened for a second and his face paled even more, as if he couldn’t remember the answer – but then his expression dropped in relief and his shoulders sagged.

“ _Jesus_ ”, he shook his head, actually smirking. “Kid got lucky”.

“So you don’t?”, Rhodes raised an eyebrow.

“Not anymore”, Tony breathed out in relief. “I used to, but when I made the Iron-Spider suit I moved everything for the Avengers Compound’s server. I actually _invited_ him to be an Avenger, and he declined”, he chuckled. Rhodes was a bit concerned about Tony’s mental state, but he couldn’t really blame his friend for being high on relief that Gargan couldn’t get his hands on Peter’s secret identity. From what Tony – actually, mostly Friday – had explained to him, Gargan had only ended up in prison because of Peter. If the ugly scar covering half of his face was anything to go by, he probably wanted nothing more than revenge against Spider-Man. “I never moved the info back to my personal server after that, and I didn’t make him any updates or new gadgets yet. Guess it was for better”, he continued, sighing again. Out of a sudden, Tony looked very exhausted, as if he was about to keel over and pass out any moment now.

“You should rest”, Rhodes suggested, and since Tony immediately sent a death glare at him, he added: “Really, Tones. I know you want to find Peter ASAP, but you can’t go on much further if you keep pushing yourself”, he tried to reason. “You look like you’re about to drop dead”.

“What am I supposed to do? Call it a day and go take a nap while my – while _Peter_ is out there?” Tony protested, once again looking – and sounding – like he was deeply offended by his friend’s words. He hoped Rhodes didn’t catch his almost-slip. He didn’t have the right to refer to Peter as his kid anymore. Not after everything bad that had come out of it. He shook his head, biting his lower lip in determination. “I can’t do that. I can’t rest now that there’s an actual chance I might find him”.

“What?”, Rhodes frowned, not following. Tony gave him his trademark patronizing look that said ‘I’m Tony Stark and I know everything’, and the contrast with his panicked, vulnerable state from merely five minutes before was astounding. Rhodes sincerely couldn’t tell if Tony was actually so distracted by the ability to finally be useful in finding Peter that his snarky personality had taken over control again, or if Tony was simply faking that he was feeling better and putting up his strong façade in order to make Rhodes leave him alone. Whenever it came to Tony’s feelings, it wasn’t easy to tell.

“They hacked into my personal server, Rhodey”, Tony explained as if it was obvious. “All I’ve got to do is follow their breadcrumbs. I’m sure they must have left some”.

“And what if they didn’t?”, Rhodes asked cautiously. He understood – and shared – Tony urgent desire to find Peter and get this whole kidnapping story over with, but they couldn’t rush into conclusions and, more importantly, underestimate their enemies. They had already predicted that Tony would track their call and thus, set up a location specifically designed to stress him out. There was no way of knowing that Tony wouldn’t walk right into another trap this time too, and they had been nauseatingly clear about what would happen to Peter should they try to find them instead of complying to their requests. Tony, however, looked like he was about to start an argument, which was why Rhodes cut him before he could say a word. “Look, all I’m saying is”, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers before crossing his arms above his chest. “We can’t underestimate these guys. Even if you’re right and they hired someone to do the hacking for them, they still have alien weapons and enough tech to make themselves untraceable. We’ve got to be careful, or Peter could end up paying the price”.

At the final sentence, all signs of motivation and self-assuring disappeared from Tony’s face, giving place to that heartbreaking expression of helplessness and guilt. Rhodes’ heart ached to know that he had been responsible for wiping Tony’s confidence away right after he had just regained it, but they needed to be realistic. A kid’s life was on the line, and he knew damn well that Tony would never, ever forgive himself if anything bad happened to Peter. Deep down, Rhodes knew that Tony _knew_ he was making a good point – the billionaire was just too caught up in his adrenaline and fear to have realized it on his own first; desperation to find Peter overcoming his reason.

“So what do you suggest?”, Tony shook his head, sounding almost hurt that Rhodes was second guessing him. “That I sit here, waiting for Gargan to text me an address to where I’m supposed to ship dangerous technology that could potentially be weaponized and comply to him in exchange for Peter?”

“No”, Rhodes tried to say, but Tony didn’t let him continue.

“No, because I can’t do that. I can’t just _give_ them what they want me to. I didn’t do it in Afghanistan and I’m not doing it now”, he said, a gloomy look on his face. He turned away so that he wasn’t directly facing Rhodes, but the grief on his profile was still very tangible. Afghanistan had always been a delicate subject for Tony to speak about, and having Peter caught up in the middle of that mess was probably making a trauma-fest erupt in Tony’s head. “But I’m not compromising Peter, either”, Tony added in a lower tone after a few seconds of silence. “It’s not his fault he… got close to me”, he swallowed dry. “So I’m going to get him out. I’m going to do everything I can to find him. And if you think I’m going to rest before I do…”, he trailed off, sending a sincerely apologetic look to Rhodes. Tony knew how his best friend worried about his antics, but he couldn’t just give up on Peter. He wouldn’t be able to lay his head on a pillow and succumb to slumber, knowing that Peter could be getting tortured. He shivered.

“Hey”, Rhodes placed a comforting hand on Tony’s shoulder, his expression softening. “I know Tones. I’m worried about Peter… But I’m worried about you, too. At least let me take you to the lab; I can call someone in to take your blood pressure and see if everything’s ok”, he asked, voice firm. Tony looked hesitant and annoyed at the same time. “God knows I can’t stop you from overworking yourself right now, but Friday had to use one of her _protocols_. You health could be seriously compromised, man. I’m just trying to make sure you won’t drop dead on your feet before we can get to Peter”, he added, knowing that if he included Peter’s safety in his argument, Tony was bound to comply. A flash of fear crossed Tony’s face at the idea of him being unable to rescue Peter because of something as ludicrous as his health.

“Fine”, he sighed in resignation, rolling his eyes a bit just out of spite and turning the chairs towards the computer. “Let me just finish this and then I’ll go to the lab with you, if it makes you feel better”.

“It does”, Rhodes nodded.

“But I’ll come back as soon as I’m cleared out”, Tony added sternly, already back to typing.

 ** _If_** _you’re cleared out_ , Rhodes thought, concerned about his friend’s health. but didn’t say anything. Tony still look very shaken up and pale, but he did seem better than a few minutes before, when he had been gasping and struggling with each breath and shaking like a leaf. He squeezed Tony’s shoulder.

“I’m going to grab something for us to eat. I’m assuming you haven’t had anything since you came back from Hong Kong”, he raised an eyebrow.

“Nah, I did”, Tony said without looking at his friend, attention focused on the computer screen in front of him again.

“Boss’s last meal was in the jet on the way here, colonel”, Friday provided uninvited, making Tony snap his head towards the ceiling with a glare.

“Et tu, Brute?”, he muttered under his breath.

“I don’t need Friday to snitch on you to know that you haven’t been eating, Tones”, Rhodes rolled his eyes. “I’ve known you for a lifetime. I’m getting you something to eat, and you’re eating it”, he added, tone leaving no space for a discussion. Tony sighed in discontent. “And then you’re coming with me to the lab”.

“As soon as I finish this”, Tony added to the terms of his surrender. Rhodes sighed, but nodded, aware that he should take his small victory.

“Fine. I’ll be right back”, he announced, tapping Tony’s shoulder in a friendly manner.

“If you bring me that disgusting hot dog from the corner I’m revoking our friendship”, Tony shouted after Rhodes, not bothering to look as his friend left the workshop, already instructing Friday to call in Doctor Helen Cho to give Tony a check-up.

As soon as the elevator’s doors closed and Rhodes left, Tony’s shoulders sagged and he leaned back against the rest of his chair, looking like he had just run a marathon. His expression fell and assumed a tiredness that made him look decades older, eyes closing as he raised a shaking hand to rub his face. He’d been struggling to keep a normal façade in front of Rhodes after he had been embarrassingly caught in the middle of a panic attack, but now that his friend was out of sight, he could finally stop pretending.

Tony was extremely, uncomfortably aware of the risks involved in trying to track Peter again. This whole hacking-into-his-server stunt could be just another trap; nothing more than a justification these men needed to hurt Peter. Maybe the tracks Tony was finding in his system were left there on purpose, and following them would only result in pain for the kid.

But there was also a chance that these guys, however devious they were, had actually hacked into the wrong server and didn’t bother to clean up after their mess. Maybe, just _maybe_ , Tony had a solid chance to find Peter without being forced to give his weaponizable technology to criminals. Maybe he could still save the kid and make things right without screwing up. Those hopes felt like they were more results of his desperation than actual logic, but he couldn’t bear the thought of Peter getting tortured. And these guys could be good, and very competent in their criminal activities so far, but they didn’t seem to be smart enough to hack into Tony Stark’s personal server without leaving traces behind. This game of cat and mouse was being dragged for too long, and he should have found Peter already. He needed to do _something_.

After minutes of typing, searching and digging into codes, Tony stared blankly at the result of his efforts. On his screen, the IP address from the person who had hacked him stared back, almost daring him to follow it. Tony didn’t know what to do. This could either lead him to saving Peter, or doom the boy.

“Friday, run a scan on your code for any possible invasion and enhance the security of my personal server”, Tony instructed, eyes never leaving his monitor.

“Right away, boss”, Friday immediately complied.

He supported his elbows on the edge of his desk, covering his face with both hands. For once in his life, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want Peter to suffer. But trying to keep him from suffering could be the _exact thing_ that sent the boy into _more_ suffering.

He didn’t know what to do.

 

 

 

 

“Hey, I need to go to the bathroom”.

No reply.

“C’mon, man, I know you can hear me. I really need to go to the bathroom”.

Nothing.

Peter sighed, leaning his head back in resignation. He really, _really_ needed the bathroom, but his calls had gone ignored so far. The henchman keeping an eye on him was watching something on his phone, earphones on, but still making sure to send Peter a glimpse every now and then as if to make sure the boy was still tied up. Whenever he looked at him, Peter repeated his request, but the man simply ignored him. He was starting to get really frustrated.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been a captive of Gargan and his criminal friends, but he imagined it must be more than a day, if his growling stomach was anything to go by. His kidnappers hadn’t provided him any sort of food, only a glass of water that was basically shoved on his mouth without any sort of care and resulted on half the liquid being spilled on the front of Peter’s shirt. His stomach was empty and his bladder was full, and everything Peter wanted was to just get out of that chair for a moment and stretch his limbs. And go to the damn bathroom.

Despite what his captors may think, he wouldn’t try to escape again, not when Aunt May’s life was in danger. He just wanted to relieve himself and maybe get off of these wires for a few minutes. He doubted his metabolism, as enhanced as it was, would be able to heal the deep cuts around his wrists in the small time it took for him to go to the bathroom, but removing the things in the first place was already good enough for him. It had been hours since they had bound him with the wires, and they were still as hurtful as they had been in the first minute. Peter didn’t need to look at his wrists to know that they were probably looking like a mess of cuts, blood and torn skin, if the searing pain he was feeling was anything to go buy.

With his powers, he needed to eat more often than he had before he became Spider-Man. His enhanced metabolism needed fuel to work, and Peter grew very hungry whenever he spent more than two hours without having at least a snack, let alone a day. Or maybe two days. He couldn’t really tell, since the lights on the factory room he was stuck at were kept on constantly, and there weren’t any windows around. He vaguely wondered if that was one of the tactics his kidnappers used to keep him under their control – losing track of time.

Peter figured that he could probably snap the wires apart and free himself if he wanted, but that would definitely hurt a lot more than the ropes had and could probably cut his wrists too deep for it to be safe. Still, he couldn’t do it anyway – Toomes would most definitely be pissed off and Aunt May would be in danger before he could get to her. If only he could get in touch with Tony, if only his captors would call him – then Peter would be able to ask the billionaire to protect his aunt, and finally get the hell away from this mess. If Tony had May’s back, then Peter wouldn’t have to worry about revealing his identity to Gargan – he’d be able to fight his way out without risking his aunt’s life.

He was beginning to doze off again, weak from hunger and low glucose, when the door to the room opened and Gargan strolled in.

“I see the wires worked just fine”, he commented with a malicious smirk, staring down at Peter and the dried blood tinging the boy’s hands red.

“I need to go to the bathroom”, Peter announced, glaring up at the Scorpion. As much as he hated the idea of having to ask that criminal for a favor, the idea of pissing himself on the chair was undoubtedly more embarrassing.

“So what?”, Gargan shrugged with indifference, walking away from Peter and towards the man who had been watching him. “Everything alright?”, he asked the man, who had removed one of his earphones to talk to Gargan.

“Yeah, man”, he said, nodding at Peter. “Kid’s been whining for hours about going to the bathroom, but he didn’t try anything. It’s all good”.

“Good. I want to call Stark today, so imma need you to go talk to Eddie and see if everything’s ready for the next step. I got word that he sent a drone to that fake location we set up, so I doubt he’ll come sniffing around from now on. We can’t really count on Mason to cover our back again”, he chuckled. Peter’s stomach dropped at the words.

They had set up a fake location and Tony had tracked it? He didn’t know whether to feel relieved that Mr. Stark was actually looking for him, or worried about what they could have possibly placed in the location to stop the billionaire from trying to find Peter. Either way, what made Peter’s heart beat faster inside his chest was the fact that Gargan was going to call Tony on that day. This was his chance to tell the billionaire to protect his aunt and finally get the hell out of this place.

He was so caught up in his plan that he didn’t notice Gargan was approaching him again until the man was directly beside him, crouching down and fidgeting with the wires attaching Peter to the chair. He hissed at the newfound pain that invaded him once the wires were detached from the chair – it had taken him hours to find a position in which they didn’t hurt too much – and he blamed his spider-senses being all confused and messed up on his low glucose.

“What are you doing?”, Peter asked, once Gargan cut him free from the chair. The wires were still wrapped around his wrists, making them stuck behind his back, but Gargan pushed him to his feet with a little more strength than necessary. Peter stumbled, unbalanced after spending so much time sitting down, and dizzy by the lack of food and the low blood sugar. He blinked several times until he black and white dots disappeared from his vision, glaring as Gargan yanked the wires from around his wrists with more strength than necessary, making him bite down on his own tongue to keep from screaming. He tasted copper.

Gargan, however, didn’t give his abused wrists any time to recover before wrapping the wires around them again, this time in front of Peter. He breathed heavily as the wires tightened around his still fresh wounds, drawing even more blood. He couldn’t help but to hiss.

“What are you _doing_?”, Peter asked again, doing his best to keep his voice firm despite of the pain. Gargan finished tying him up and grabbed his elbow, dragging him across the room so fast that Peter stumbled on his feet for a moment.

“Thought you wanted to take a piss, Stark Jr.”, the man said simply, his tone and his words sending a wave of nauseated disgust to Peter’s empty stomach.

Now that he was on his feet and walking around the room, he could see a lot more than he had been able while sitting on his chair. This was definitely an abandoned factory – where, Peter couldn’t tell, but he would guess it was somewhere remote and far away from the city. The door he had seen when he first woke up looked a lot like it was a freezer, now that Peter could see that it extended halfway back into the factory room, and it had probably been used to keep meat or something alike when the factory was still functioning. There were a lot of boxes and machinery around, but they were all dusty and didn’t look functional anymore. Gargan purposefully kept Peter’s back turned away from any exit points, and when the boy turned his head to try and see the door, the man pulled his arm with more urgency, making Peter hiss at the way it made the wires tighten around his wrists.

Gargan shoved Peter at the farthest corner of the factory room and stood behind him with crossed arms. When the boy gave him a confused look, he rolled his eyes.

“Well? I ain’t doing it for you”, he said simply.

“So I don’t even get to go to a proper bathroom, huh?”, Peter twisted his nose, raising a disdainful eyebrow at the man.

“You can go to your _proper_ rich white boy bathroom when your daddy pays what he’s due”, Gargan scoffed, twisting his own nose as if mimicking Peter. “Until then, you’re gonna do it in the corner like a man. Unless you don’t really need to go to the bathroom and want to go back to your chair, now, your highness”, he mocked.

Peter scoffed, turning his back on Gargan and trying to smother his embarrassment down as he opened his flier and did what he had to do. He felt humiliated and vulnerable, but couldn’t deny that he was relieved. He barely had any time to close his flier again before Gargan was back to dragging him, pushing him towards the chair. This time, Peter managed to get a glimpse of the door that the criminals probably used to enter the room where he was being held, which was a win, but he couldn’t see much before he was being pushed back to his too-familiar, not-at-all-comforting chair.

Gargan repeated the procedure with the wires, untying them from Peter’s wrists only to tie them again on the back of the chair. Peter managed not to make a sound of discomfort this time, though it took a lot of determination, since the pain was verging on unbearable. He had a pretty high resistance to pain and injuries, but he had never been forced to endure something like those wires, which were constantly digging into his flesh and gave him no opportunity to heal himself.

“’Proper bathroom’”, Gargan was scoffing mockingly under his breath while he resumed tying Peter back up. “I swear to god, brat’s spoiled as shit. I should teach you a lesson, that’s what I should do”.

If only Gargan knew that Peter wasn’t actually Tony’s son. If only he knew that Peter was just a normal kid from Queens, who had lost his parents as a baby and who was raised by his aunt, who could barely support him. This man thought Peter was a rich, spoiled kid whose father was a billionaire, but that couldn’t be the farthest thing from the truth. Yes, Tony was ~~pretty much~~ more or less of a father figure to him, and yes, he offered Peter some financial support whenever things got to rough, but he didn’t _spoil_ Peter. Months before, Peter had been scavenging garbage for tech. If there was one thing he _wasn’t_ , was spoiled.

“Well, there you go”, Gargan said, standing back up and giving Peter a look as if to ensure he was properly tied to the chair, with no chance to escape. “Guess I won’t be giving you any water from now on. This way we won’t have to do this again. Too much work”, he gave the boy that hideously malicious smirk once again, looking almost manic.

“And I guess hospitality isn’t your strongest suit”, Peter muttered under his breath, but loud enough for Gargan to hear him. The Scorpion’s smirk died on his lips.

“You talking back to me?”, he asked, offended, a snarl replacing his previous smile. Peter glared up at him, but didn’t say anything else. _Aunt May. Don’t do anything stupid. You should have kept your mouth shut. Think of Aunt May._

Gargan didn’t particularly enjoy his silence, and took a step closer to Peter. He was bracing himself to be punched in the jaw when hurried footsteps echoed across the room, and Gargan looked up at the exit door.

“Everything’s ready”, the man who had been watching Peter minutes before said. “The location is prepped up and we hijacked the burner phone. He won’t be able to trace us from it”.

“Good”, Gargan said, relaxing. He actually managed a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s good. You already transferred the money he deposited?”

“Yeah. It’s all done. He can’t get it back, now, and no one will be able to trace it. All he gotta do is give us the tech, now”.

Peter swallowed dry, eyes wide with surprise and guilt. Tony had paid them? Actually given these criminals _money_ in exchange for Peter? And now, they would demand technology from him? His heart was beating madly inside his chest. He didn’t want this. He had to escape before Tony could give his tech to Gargan and his thugs. But he _couldn’t_. He needed to ask Tony to protect Aunt May immediately. Only then he’d be able to run away.

“Great”, Gargan grinned, staring down at Peter. “Hear that, Pete? It won’t be long ‘til you’re out of here”, he said in a way that was supposed to sound reassuring, but had no actual intent to. Peter couldn’t help but to scowl. “Your old man’s only got to do us one last favor, and then you can go”.

Peter glared up at him, biting his tongue so that he wouldn’t end up saying something that could potentially anger Gargan.

“Gimme the burner”, Gargan instructed, outstretching his hand to the henchman. The man threw him the device, which Gargan caught midair, and then he started typing down a number which Peter assumed to be Tony’s.

However, much to Peter’s dismay, Gargan wasn’t making a phone call. He was _texting_ Tony. There was no way Peter could tell Mr. Stark to protect Aunt May, unless Gargan made a phone call. He wanted to scream in frustration and free himself from his bindings at the same time. Instead, he just sat there, giving Gargan a death glare and keeping his mouth shut.

“There”, Gargan said, flipping the phone shut and shoving it into his pocket. “It’s all done. All we gotta do is wait, now. How you holding up, Pete?”, he asked, turning his attention towards Peter again.

“Great”, Peter scowled, not even bothering to pretend. Gargan didn’t seem to appreciate his tone.

“You should be thankful, you know”, Gargan commented conversationally, strolling around Peter’s chair. “The only reason we’re keeping you intact is ‘cause your daddy’s rich. If you were my usual hostage, well… Let’s just say you wouldn’t have the same luck”, he chuckled. Peter glared at the floor. “I usually start with a finger, then an ear… I never had to go further than the ear before the money was deposited, but I think I’d go with the tongue for next. You”, he pointed at Peter, “you would probably have your tongue cut off first. I don’t really appreciate your attitude”.

_Don’t say anything. Don’t do anything stupid. He’s looking for a reason to hurt you. He’s going to hurt Aunt May if you do something. Stay on your lane._

“But I suppose you’re lucky, being the son of a billionaire and all”, Gargan continued, taking a knife from his hip holster and throwing it in the air, watching it twirl, and then picking it up by the handle again. He repeated the gesture several times over as he continued to stroll around Peter’s chair, like a shark playing with its victim. “Toomes gave specific instructions not to maim you. Too bad”, he commented, sounding almost disappointed. “I’d really fucking love to cut your tongue off”, he scoffed. “But again, I don’t really get why Toomes cares about what I do or not to you. Maybe I should just –“, he suddenly leaned over Peter’s shoulder, so rapidly that the boy couldn’t help but to flinch in surprise. “ – cut it off anyway. He won’t ever get to hear about it. He definitely won’t hear it from _you_ ”, he touched the sharp tip of his knife to Peter’s cheek, not with enough pressure for it to draw blood, but strong enough to be uncomfortable.

Peter’s breath sped up, but he didn’t dare to move or say anything. He really wanted to, but he stayed still. He needed to keep May safe.

“What do you think, Pete?”, Gargan urged, drawing the knife across Peter’s cheek all the way down his chin, and then stopping the blade on his neck. “Don’t you think I should cut your tongue off?”

Peter didn’t say anything. He wanted to swallow dry, but didn’t dare to do so with the knife pressed so close to his jugular. He kept staring straight ahead, lips shut tightly to form a thin line and breaths coming out in short puffs.

“I asked you a question”, Gargan whispered in his ear. “You weren’t so hesitant about talking back to me five minutes ago, were you? So imma ask again. Don’t you think I should cut your tongue off?”

Peter remained silent and Gargan pressed the knife tighter against his neck.

“No”, Peter replied, voice firm but barely audible.

“What was that?”, Gargan insisted, managing to sound almost curious.

“I said _no_ ”, Peter repeated, slightly louder. His voice never trembled or faltered.

“No _what_?”, Gargan urged, voice low and dangerous.

“No, I don’t think you should cut my tongue off”, Peter said, glaring at the floor in front of him. For a few tense, silent seconds, nothing happened. Then Gargan removed the knife from Peter’s neck and stood back, exiting his personal space and laughing aloud, as if threatening Peter’s life was the funniest thing he’d ever done in his life.

“You’ve got balls, kid”, he admitted, placing his knife back into the holster. The smile lingered on his lips, but his eyes grew darker and menacing once he stepped in front of Peter, gazing deeply at him. “But talk back to me again, and you won’t have them anymore. That’s actually better than the tongue idea”, he chuckled, looking amused at his own cleverness.

Peter couldn’t help himself. He was so _angry_.

“I don’t know, man, I think you could use some balls”, he muttered under his breath.

The Scorpion’s smile immediately died on his face.

He was probably following Toomes’ order not to maim Peter – only god knew why Toomes cared to give him that order in the first place –, but there had been no order about not _temporarily_ injuring the kid. Once the Scorpion was done with Peter, the boy was sure he was sustaining at least one broken rib, and the taste of copper had become a constant inside his mouth. Peter was having a hard time breathing and it seemed like his metabolism would take longer than it usually did to heal his injuries, given the constant growling of his empty stomach.

But Gargan never mentioned Aunt May’s name, and he never gave any of his henchmen any order to go after her, so Peter would take that as a small victory.

 

 

 

 

 

Tony stared at the screen of his phone.

He needed to make a choice. Either trace the IP that had hacked into his server and possibly find a location for Peter, or give the criminals the gadgets they had required on their newest text, hoping that they would have the good will to return the boy safely afterwards.

Rhodey had come back with Thai for him to eat, and they had been discussing about allowing Doctor Cho inside the workshop when Tony received another text from the same number.

It was a photo of Peter, sitting askew on the chair with his head low and glued to his chest, apparently unconscious. There was blood smeared on his face, coming from his clearly broken nose, and more of the red liquid pooled on the floor beneath the chair, apparently coming from his wrists. Tony realized with a sick churn of his stomach that there were wires tying Peter’s ankles to the legs of the chair, and assumed that it was the same material binding the boy’s wrists.

That was the moment he made a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, sorry for the late update! I was so caught up in finals and assignments that I found no time to write. On the other hand, my semester is finally over, so you know what that means - quicker updates from now on!
> 
> Second of all, the panic attack in this chapter was written based on my own experiences with having them. I'm aware that anxiety and panic attacks are not the same for everyone and symptoms/reactions manifest themselves in different ways for each person, so keep that in mind if you couldn't totally relate to the way I wrote it. I tried to write it as I, personally, experience it, which is the only reference I really have.
> 
> Also, I don't really know a lot about programming and hacking so there could be some inaccurate stuff on this chapter. If you have something to add about this, hit me up!
> 
> Thank you so much to all of you who wrote comments and left kudos on this story! Y'all mean the world to me and really motivate me to keep going. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and let me know your thoughts!


	5. Chapter 5

He was running and panting, so desperate to get away that his fingers could barely type down the number on the screen of the phone he was holding.

He had managed to escape through the window and down the emergency stairs of the old, falling-apart building that Toomes had sent him to, just a moment after he heard the harsh knock on his front door. Aware that whoever it was at the door could only mean trouble – no one but Toomes and himself knew of that location –, Mason decided to grab the nearest essentials and make a run for it. The ‘nearest essentials’ happened to be a Chitauri frequency alterer, which Gargan had been using to make himself untraceable to Stark; an alien device of multiple functions, which had helped him break into Stark’s personal server; and his phone.

Now that Mason thought about it, as he shoved the two alien devices inside a bag and threw it over his shoulder while he climbed down the emergency stairs of the building, he was an absolute _moron_ not to use the frequency alterer along with the second alien device when he hacked Stark. He had no doubt that it was Stark at his door, wanting to find his son himself instead of complying to Gargan’s requests, and he must have traced him from the hacking. Even though Mason was a tinkerer – _the_ Tinkerer –, he still was not sure what the consequences of mingling the Chitauri tech with that second unknown alien device would be. For all he knew, one could have cancelled the other out and resulted on the _definite_ end of their plan, and Toomes would have his head on a plate if _he_ was the responsible for ruining everything he had worked for. Throughout all his life, he had always preferred to be safe than sorry.

Right on that moment, he was feeling pretty sorry.

He struggled to dial Toomes’ number as he continued to climb down the stairs, especially from the way the bag on his shoulders kept bumping on his already tired legs. This was way more physical exercise than his body was used to and, unlike Toomes and Gargan, Mason wasn’t built for this kind of action. He was supposed to stay in the lab researching things and adapting alien technology, not running away from Iron Man in the middle of Bronx. His face was becoming red from all the physical exertion and he was panting heavily, but tried his best to keep a leveled head.

He reached the ground floor and hopped off the emergency stair with a tired huff, the bag with alien tech clutched tightly in one hand and the phone in another. He figured his best route of escape would be getting to his car, which was parked on the other side of the building. He was extremely aware that his chances of successfully running away from Stark were dire, but he couldn’t simply give himself over to the billionaire when Toomes was trusting him to keep this whole operation discreet. Speaking of the man, he finally picked up the phone after Mason tried – and failed – so many times to dial his number.

“I thought I’d told you not to call me until the plan was complete”, Toomes’ annoyed voice said from the other end of the line. Mason knew he wouldn’t have much time to explain everything that was happening, especially because air seemed to be refusing to get into his lungs, and he was still running towards his car when he managed to pant out a reply.

“Stark found me”, he said, breathless. His heart was beating fast inside his chest and his legs were aching and burning from the effort of running. He instinctively looked behind his shoulder as he went, as if to check if he was being followed. “I don’t know –“

He was interrupted by Happy’s fist meeting his jaw right as he turned on the building’s corner.

 

 

 

 

 

“He’s waking up”, Rhodes announced, nodding at the unconscious man lying on the floor. Tony hadn’t bothered to tie Mason up or restrain him in any way – he wouldn’t be able to get too far, not only because he already looked half-dead from only climbing down some emergency stairs, but because the Iron Man suit was standing watch by the exit door, while War Machine secured the windows of the apartment. Also, Happy was standing a few feet away from Mason, a bar on his hands. Tony didn’t know where he had gotten the bar from, or if he would even have the nerve to use it, but that hardly mattered on that moment. At least he was doing something to help.

Tony turned back from where he had been analyzing Mason’s computer. They were back at the man’s apartment, which was apparently just a temporary place, if the lack of furniture except for a working desk and the dust covering the carpet was anything to go by. Tony had thousands of speculations regarding this whole ordeal, but he was done speculating. He was about to find out exactly what was going on from an inside source, for once.

He stood up from Mason’s dusty – and rather disgusting – chair to walk towards the fallen man and nudge him with the tip of his shoe. Mason stirred, blinking his sluggish eyes open and looking around in confusion for a moment. Tony crouched down in front of him, noticing how Happy’s sucker punch was already blooming into a purple bruise on the man’s jaw.

“You”, Tony said as Mason’s eyes finally focused on him. “Should have used the Chitauri frequency alterer when you hacked into my server”.

As soon as they had dragged Mason’s sorry ass back to the apartment, Tony had started the process of analyzing the tech inside the man’s bag and finding whatever could be helpful in his personal computer. Since Tony was basically a genius, it didn’t take him too long to realize that one of the devices in Mason’s bag was of Chitauri nature, and after a couple of short tests, he figured out that it altered earthly frequencies into an alien one. This was probably why he was having such a hard time finding Gargan and his merry band of criminals – Tony didn’t have any device capable of tracking _alien_ frequencies.

The other device from Mason’s bag was still a bit of a mystery to him, as much as he wouldn’t admit it aloud. Tony could only assume that Mason had used it to hack into his server, but he would need more than a couple of minutes of testing to figure out how it worked or what, exactly, it did. He decided that asking Mason about it would be too humiliating, because he didn’t need the help of a _criminal_ to figure alien tech out. He could do it on his own, once he had the time – something that would only happen after he got Peter back.

Mason blinked sluggishly at him, glassy eyes trying to make sense of his surroundings, until they widened in realization of who was standing in front of him. Swallowing dry and not saying a word, he managed to push himself into a sitting position on the floor, taking a careful hand to his bruising jaw and hissing in pain. Tony got back to his feet, but stood tall in front of Mason, waiting for him to say something. It took a bit longer than he expected, but the lack of fear in Mason’s voice as he spoke up only served to increase Tony’s already growing anger.

“I did think about that, but I had no idea how the other device would interfere with the Chitauri technology”, Mason justified, not bothering to look up at Tony and still running his fingers across his jaw, as if in deep thought. As if he wasn’t under the risk of Tony finally losing his cool and _obliterating_ him for hurting his kid. “I figured it would be better not to risk it”.

“And yet, you got caught anyway”, Tony scoffed with disdain. Mason finally turned his eyes to look at him, an almost impressed look on his face.

“In fact, no one ever thought you would be willing to risk Peter’s life by coming after me, but yes, I suppose I got caught”, he said, almost conversationally, as if he was resigned about his faith. Tony’s nostrils flared in rage at the man’s audacity.

“Tony”, Rhodes said quietly, almost as a warning, as Tony grabbed Mason by the collar of his shirt and pulled him to his feet, so that they could be face to face. The billionaire made sure the raw fury he was feeling showed through the murderous gaze he locked on Mason.

“I’m going to make it simple for you”, Tony said, never quite managing to get rid of the sarcasm dripping from his tone. It took every ounce of his self-control not to punch a hole through Mason’s face for his participation in Peter’s kidnapping. “You’re going to tell me where Peter is, and I’m not going to throw you out of that window head-first. Are we clear?”

A sparkle of fear seemed to cross Mason’s eyes at the words. When Toomes had Gargan hire him for this job, he had known – he had _always_ known – that, if it came down to Mason’s life or the security of the plan, Mason would always allow his self-preservation instincts speak first. He had always been like that, even before Toomes got started on the more _illegal_ range of their job. And, honestly, when he called Toomes during his failed escape, it wasn’t out of some sort of naïve hope that the man would help him or save him – it was to let him _know_. Toomes knew that Mason wouldn’t risk his own life or physical integrity in order to ensure the plan would work. That had always been a very clear part of the deal.

But now Toomes knew Stark had Mason, and all Mason had to do was buy the Vulture enough time to set plan B into action.

“I don’t know where he is”, Mason admitted, despite of his fear and of the threat looming above his head. “They wouldn’t tell me”.

Tony raised an eyebrow full of incredulity at Mason, looking tempted to headbutt him.

“You don’t seem to be taking me seriously, chubby Dexter, so I’m going to give you a sample”, he announced simply, before yanking Mason towards the window and pushing it open so that he could shove the man’s midsection outside. Mason would probably survive the fall, but he would definitely be maimed for life if Tony dropped him. “ _Where is Peter_?”, Tony shouted, ignoring the way Mason’s hands clung to his arms with a grip so tight that it would probably leave a mark.

“Tony!”, Rhodes warned again, this time taking a step closer to him and outstretching a hand towards his friend, as if he feared Tony would actually throw Mason off the window. Happy continued to stand in the middle of the room, bar clutched tightly in his hand and ready to use it, should the need arise.

“Alright, alright!”, Mason said, voice a bit too frantic for his own liking. The cold wind blowing on his face as he stared down at the street far below him didn’t exactly help the pallor taking over his face. Tony pushed him back into the room with such force that Mason stumbled on his own feet and fell in a rather pathetic display. His face was white as a sheet and his eyes were slightly wide, but he was holding both hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Look, I really don’t know where Peter is”, he said, and Tony’s nostrils flared again. “They wouldn’t tell me!”, Mason added urgently, as if sensing Tony’s rage. “Gargan hired me to hack into your server and only that. I _could_ have used the Chitauri tech to make myself untraceable, but I didn’t have time to properly test the device I used to hack you, and I had no idea how one would interfere with the other. I – I _told_ Gargan it was risky, that you would probably be able to find me, but he was so sure that you wouldn’t risk the boy that he told me to do it anyway. But he still _knew_ that there was a chance you’d come after me, so he never told me where they were going. And I didn’t get in touch with him after I hacked the wrong server”, he explained, hands shaking.

“What about Toomes, huh?”, Tony said after a few moments of ponderation, fishing Mason’s phone out of his own pocket. They must have gotten it while he was knocked out but, thankfully, all exchanges regarding the kidnapping had been done over calls, and not texts. This way, even if Stark had snooped around his phone, he would have found nothing compromising. “I see you gave him a call before we caught you, but he hasn’t bothered to pick up ever since”, he waved the phone in front of Mason teasingly. “Guess he bailed on you, right?”

“H-He probably knows it’s you calling, not me”, Mason explained, shifting on the floor but taking special care to keep his hands in the air, as if Tony was a police officer apprehending him. “I told him you had found me right before your hired muscle over there punched me in the face”, he nodded at Happy.

“Hey”, Happy protested, pointing the bar at Mason in a threatening way. “I’m his driver, jackass”.

“Look, Toomes won’t talk to you”, Mason turned his attention back at Tony, shaking his head as if to emphasize this words. “He knows I’m compromised, so no one in that contact list will pick up any of my calls. It’s useless to try”, he shrugged, almost apologetically.

Tony’s lips were forming a thin line as he paced in front of Mason in deep thought, the man’s cellphone held in a tight grip. Rhodes and Happy watched carefully, eyes darting between the pacing Tony and the fallen Mason. The tension in the room was nearly tangible.

“So you don’t know where Peter is and I can’t talk to Toomes or Gargan through you”, Tony said finally, crossing his arms above his chest. Mason nodded vehemently. Tony shook his head in disapproval. “Then tell me what, _exactly_ , is stopping me from throwing you off the window head-first _just_ like I said I would”, he raised an eyebrow at Mason. The man swallowed dry, mouth opening and closing several times as if he was trying to come up with a plausible answer.

“You – You’re a superhero”, Mason argued, trying his best to keep his voice firm despite of the fact his hands were still a shaking mess. “It would make you look bad”, he shrugged, almost apologetically.

Tony took an angry step towards Mason at the words, but before he could do anything, Rhodes stepped in front of his friend, placing a calming hand to his chest to hold him back. Tony tried to walk past Rhodes and get to Mason anyway – to do _what_ , he didn’t know yet – but Rhodes was firm in his posture and he pushed Tony slightly back.

“Calm down. You’ve got this”, Rhodes said simply, trying to ease his friend.

“Look, I was paid to hack into your server, not kidnap your kid”, Mason tried to justify from where he was still sitting on the floor, sounding like he actually believed he was blameless. There seemed to be an actual apology somewhere in his tone, but Tony couldn’t care less about it. Peter was still gone. Peter was still _hurt_. And this man in front of him had helped the people who were doing that to the boy.

“Yeah?”, Tony said, trying to walk past Rhodes again and failing as the colonel placed himself between Tony and Mason, a cautious look on his face. “You helped them kidnap my kid anyway, so give me _one single reason_ why I shouldn’t haul your ass to jail right now and leave you there to rot for the rest of your sorry life”, he yelled. Mason looked slightly more frightened at this prospect.

“I – I would like to speak to my lawyer”, he said in a small voice, as if the thought had just occurred to him. Tony actually tried to jump at Mason at this, but Rhodes wrapped his hands around his friend’s waist and held him back.

“Jesus _Christ_ – Happy”, Rhodes said, turning his head towards the driver with an incredulous look on his face. Mason really had some nerve to think he had the right to demand a lawyer after what he had done. Maybe he actually thought Tony had the same authority as the police. “ _Happy_. Make this asshole shut up and keep an eye on him”, Rhodes instructed, unable to keep the annoyance from his voice. He carefully directed a still struggling Tony towards the farthest corner of the room, in order to gain some privacy. Happy complied with Rhodes’ request and promptly stood in front of Mason, tapping the bar he was still holding on one of his hands in a menacing way.

“You try anything funny and this baby here is going to schedule a meeting with your face”, he warned, tone nonchalant as always. “It’s almost as bad as my fist, and I’m a boxing champion”, he raised his eyebrows as if to emphasize his words.

“Tones, I know you’re nervous about all this, but we can’t actually kill this guy”, was the first thing Rhodes said as soon as they were out of Mason’s hearing range. Tony didn’t look at his friend as he spoke, shaking his head.

“They’re torturing Peter as we _speak_ and this guy is talking about a _lawyer_ as if he has the right to _make demands_ –“, Tony said through gritted teeth, pointing a hand towards Mason before dropping his head and taking a series of deep, calming breaths.

Rhodes squeezed Tony’s tense shoulder with a comforting hand, trying to ground him to reality. He knew how stressed out the billionaire was, but now was the first time, ever since the kidnapping, that they actually had a chance to get to Peter without having to comply with Gargan’s demands. They needed to stay focus and take advantage of the situation. As distant and uncaring Tony often pretended to be, such an intense display of his feelings indicated just how worried he was about Peter.

“He warned Toomes”, Tony said after a few moments of silence, sounding as if he was regaining his composure. He shook his head again and sniffed, looking up at Rhodes with expressive, emotional eyes. He looked afraid, but overwhelmingly determined. “We have to find Peter. _Now_ ”.

“We will”, Rhodes nodded at him, doing his best to sound reassuring. “We should stop trying to call Toomes or Gargan, though. I don’t think it’s leading us anywhere, and if Mason warned them that we got him, we could just end up pissing them off”, Rhodes advised, serious.

“Yeah, and it’s not like they’re picking up, anyway”, Tony nodded in agreement, waving Mason’s phone again before tossing it to the dusty desk nearby. “Not even when I called from my personal number”, he added, crossing his arms above his chest. His eyes were darting frantically across the floor in front of him as he lost himself in deep thought, trying to figure out what course of action he should follow. He was biting so hard at his bottom lip that it wouldn’t take long until the skin broke.

Tony had had his doubts about tracking Mason down, but giving criminals his technology in exchange for Peter wasn’t an option, either. This was what his life always came down to – having to choose between saving someone, or giving bad guys access to his tech. it had been the same back in Afghanistan, except this time, it wasn’t his own life he had to save. It was Peter’s. And, to him, Peter’s life was worth more than his, any day.

But as much as he cared about the boy, he couldn’t simply _hand his tech over_ to those psychopaths. Not when he had an alternative. Not when he had a _tangible_ way to save Peter without making those criminals 100 times more dangerous than they already were.

He was aware of the risks – _painfully_ so –, but he was also sure that he would manage to find Peter before something bad could happen to the kid. He had built a goddamn miniaturized arc reactor _and_ Mark 1 inside a cave in Afghanistan after three months of captivity; rescuing Peter from common criminals should be a piece of cake to him. He needed to get Peter back. There was no other option.

He took a deep breath and looked at Rhodey again, something akin to a pleading in his eyes as he did so. His friend stared back at him with tense expectation, waiting to hear his solution.

“I’m going to use the Chitauri tech”, Tony announced, trying his best to sound certain in the exact way he did _not_ feel. Every step he took could either bring him closer to saving Peter or cause the boy even _more_ pain, but he couldn’t simply stand still and comply to terrorists when he had an actual _chance_. “If Gargan is using the same tech to make himself untraceable, then a device with a similar signature would _hypothetically_ be able to override his cloaking”, he explained.

“So what you’re saying is…”, Rhodes encouraged.

“I can track them down”, Tony nodded, not meeting Rhodes’ eyes this time, as if he didn’t want his friend to see the fear in them. “Using that”, he gestured vaguely at the desk containing Mason’s laptop and the alien devices.

“That sounds like a better plan than throwing that guy off the window”, Rhodes acknowledged, nodding at Tony and tilting his head to the side.

“I wouldn’t say so”, Tony scoffed, taking a step closer to the desk and sitting back down at the dusty chair in front of the laptop. “I still _really_ feel like throwing him off the window”, he admitted, sparing Mason a glimpse. He was still sitting on the floor, but now with his back glued to the wall as Happy stood watch in front of him, swinging his bar around as if to show it off in a threatening way.

“Eh, this way is more ethical”, Rhodes shrugged, standing behind Tony as the man went back to typing on Mason’s laptop and leaning his hands on the back of the chair.

“Yeah. But the only problem is: this asshole told Toomes we had him”, Tony pointed out, nodding at Mason with a grimace. “Which means it’s very possible they’ll change locations, since they know I could get my hands on the Chitauri tech and use it to trace them”.

“You’d still be able to track them, right?”, Rhodes frowned. “With the Chitauri device? Even if they move?”

“Not unless they contact me from the new location”, Tony admitted, already working on activating the Chitauri device in order to track Gargan. Tony didn’t need Mason, as much of an expert as the man was in alien tech, to explain how the Chitauri frequency alterer worked. Tony Stark was one of the most intelligent people on the planet. He could figure it out himself. “Which _probably_ won’t happen”, he added with only half of his attention.

As if on cue, Tony’s phone rang.

Everyone in the room froze and turned to look at Tony’s phone, which was sitting beside the laptop on Mason’s dusty desk. The AC/DC ringtone Tony had set as main did nothing to ease the tension in the room, and his fingers had stopped their typing mid-air at the sound of the music. He couldn’t help but to feel a sense of deep dread filling his chest as he took the device into his hands, staring at the brightly-lit screen to see who was calling him.

It was an unknown number.

 

 

 

 

As soon as Mason’s call went dead, Toomes threw his phone across the room in rage, growling. God _damn_ Tony Stark for everything he ever did to ruin his life.

He had never expected that the man would actually try to find Mason, despite of the tinkerer’s warnings that this was a high possibility. He had thought that using the images of his torture in Afghanistan and sending pictures of Peter would be enough to make Stark put his tail between his legs, ready to comply with any requests they made. He had thought this was a _won game_. But it seemed that underestimating Tony Stark had been, as usual, a mistake. A mistake that would cost him his money _and_ his freedom, if he wasn’t careful.

He needed to think things through and carefully plan the following course of action. He couldn’t let Stark win, after everything he had taken from him. He couldn’t afford to lose. His family needed him. He already had his share of the money Stark deposited safely secured in an account overseas; the only thing he still needed to obtain from all this was his _freedom_.

Toomes knew that Mason wouldn’t be able to tell Stark about Peter’s whereabouts, since he knew better than to give the tinkerer access to that type of information, but that didn’t mean the man wouldn’t be compliant to the billionaire’s threats. From what Gargan had told him over the phone, Stark really saw Peter as some sort of surrogate son, if the amount of pictures and sentimental stuff they had dug from his server was anything to go by. Even if Peter _wasn’t_ Stark’s biological son, as Toomes had successfully made everyone believe, he still obviously cared about the kid.

But caring about the kid hadn’t been enough to stop Stark from meddling with his business once again, and it had obviously _not_ stopped the billionaire from endangering the kid’s life by trying to track his captors. Because of this, Toomes knew he would have to follow a different course of action if he wanted his plan to succeed – if he wanted to get out of jail and be reunited with his family again.

A couple of minutes after Mason’s call and several deep breaths later, he picked up his fallen phone from the floor and flipped it open. Thankfully, the impact with the floor had only damaged the screen, and not the device itself. Toomes dialed Gargan’s number and took the phone to his ear, waiting and tapping his foot to the floor. He didn’t want to have to do this, but he would have to. It was his only chance to get his freedom, now, and he would be damned if he was forced to spend the rest of his days in a jail cell because of _Tony Stark_.

“Yeah?”, Gargan picked up after a few rings. Toomed decided they didn’t have any time to waste and went straight for the matter at hands.

“Mason’s compromised”, he announced simply. “Stark’s got him”.

There was a moment of silence as Gargan computed the information, and then an annoyed scoff from the man.

“Shit”, Gargan said, disdain evident in his tone. “I _knew_ we should have killed that motherfucker”.

“Mason worked with me for years”, Toomes protested, closing his eyes at the Scorpion’s obnoxious – and unjustified – sense of superiority. “He’s valuable for us”.

“He’s valuable for _you_ ”, Gargan pointed out, making Toomes’ hand tighten into a fist. “He’s the fucking reason why we’re in this mess in the first place”, he added, unaware of Toomes’ reaction. “If he had hacked the right server –“

“Things would have been easier, yeah”, Toomes interrupted, tilting his head. “But this way, we got the money, on the top of the tech, so quit complaining”.

“We ain’t got the tech yet”, Gargan noted. Toomes didn’t need to see his face to picture the obnoxious smirk that must have tinged his lips as made that retort. “I texted Stark the address, but got nothing so far. He was probably too busy tracking fatface down to bother packing up what I told him to”, he continued, displeased.

“We’ll get the tech”, Toomes reassured, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers and sighing. “ _If_ you do as I say. Are you listening?”, he raised an eyebrow, even though Gargan couldn’t see him.

“Loud and clear”, Gargan scoffed again, that tone of disdain and irreverence in his voice making Toomes’ skin itch with the impression he was being mocked.

“Good”, he growled out anyway, hesitating for just a moment before deciding this was his only choice, now. “Look. The kid’s got an aunt. She lives in Queens”, he sighed, closing his eyes. “All you gotta do is tell Peter we have her, and that we’re going to kill her unless he tells Stark to comply. Have him call Stark and tell him to deliver the tech, and then as soon as he hangs up, move to the secondary location and _don’t_ contact him anymore. This way, even if he gets his hands on the Chitauri tech, he won’t be able to trace you at the new location, as long as you don’t call him again”.

“Aight”, Gargan complied, sounding cooperative for once. “But what if this shit doesn’t work, man? What if he still doesn’t deliver the tech?”, he added, sounding pensive.

“You just have to make Peter believe you actually got his aunt”, Toomes instructed simply. “Her name is May. She’s like a mother to him. If he thinks she’s in danger, he’ll do anything you say. And, from what you told me, Stark _loves_ the kid. If we get Peter to comply, we get Stark to comply. He’ll do anything the boy asks”, he leaned his head against the wall behind him, staring straight ahead.

“Fine”, Gargan sighed, sounding annoyed at the sudden – and drastic – change of plans. “This better work, Toomes”, he added in that superior tone of his. “I’m tired of dealing with this brat, and if I don’t end up rich in a Caribbean island for life, you gon’ be the first name on my list of enemies”.

“Just do as I said and Stark will deliver the tech”, Toomes huffed an annoyed breath, opting to ignore the threat. He definitely regretted choosing someone as ruthless as Gargan to work for him. “As long as _Pete_ begs him to”, he added with scorn.

“This is going to be fun”, the Scorpion said, sounding sadistically pleased. “I’ll let you know when we’re at the secondary location”, he added finally, and before Toomes could reply, the line went dead.

He sighed, sitting down at the thin mattress of his cell and placing the phone beside him. He did his best not to think of Peter’s aunt, who seemed to be a decent, hardworking woman. Toomes did what he had to do in order to survive in this world of snakes, this world where men like Stark stomped on the hardworking people like himself. Like May. As much as he disliked the idea of revealing Peter’s bigger weak spot to a sadist like Gargan, despite of all the trouble the boy had put him into, he couldn’t exactly bring himself to feel bad about it. May was just an occupational hazard of his fight for justice, he told himself. After everything he went through because of Peter and Stark, he deserved his freedom back, no matter what it costed.

He thought of his wife, and of Liz’s happy smile when he finally got back home and took them far away from this hell of a country, off to a better place where they could live their lives in peace with Stark’s money. It was nothing more than he was due, after everything that the billionaire had taken from him.

_This is for my family_ , he told himself. _This is all for Liz_.

 

 

 

 

He was woken by a foot nudging his shin.

The first thing he noticed as awareness returned to him was that, even though the pain was way better than it had been hours prior, it was still pretty bad. His ribs throbbed with every breath he took, and his nose and throat felt clogged by a copper-tasted material. As Peter raised his head to see who was disturbing his sleep, he realized that one of his eyes had swollen shut. Huh. He didn’t remember getting punched in the eye.

As he straightened himself on his seat, he figured his cracked ribs had already healed back into a merely bruised stage, despite of the lack of energy in his body. Healing himself was incredibly consuming, and Peter still hadn’t eaten anything in – what, two days? Three? He could barely tell anymore. His good eye focused on the person standing in front of him, and though his stomach didn’t exactly drop at the sight of Gargan, it still churned uncomfortably. The Scorpion’s knuckles were still raw from beating Peter up.

“Wakey wakey”, Gargan teased, his tone too cheerful for Peter’s liking. The boy tried to sigh in discontent and ended up throwing himself into a coughing fit, which sent stabbing waves of pain across his bruised torso. If only he could grab something to eat so he could heal faster. His stomach grumbled at the thought of food. “I see you’re doing better”, Gargan teased maliciously, actually ruffling Peter’s hair. Peter instinctively flinched away from the touch, repulsion filling every cell of his body. The only people allowed to ruffle his hair like that were May and Tony, not this evil excuse of a criminal.

“I can’t tell you the same”, Peter croaked out, head lolling up and down as he still tried to get rid of his dizziness, his throat feeling dry and itchy. “You’re still the same obnoxious asshole from before”.

Gargan actually laughed out loud at the bickering – something that had never happened before – before punching Peter in the stomach with his full strength. The boy groaned and choked at the newfound pain exploding in his torso, but otherwise managed to keep silent. He focused on breathing and not sending himself into another coughing fit as Gargan crouched down in front of him, a wicked smile spread on his lips.

“You know what, Pete? Our last chat gave me a lot to think about”, he said cheerily, and the way he was grinning made Peter fell sick all over again. He kept his one good eye focused on Gargan as he spoke. “I found a better way to make you shut your _damn_ mouth without having to cut off your tongue. You want to know what that is?”, he raised his eyebrows. Peter simply stared in silence, waiting for the man to continue. “I got two words for you. _Aunt May_ ”.

Peter’s face immediately fell at this, and whatever faux strength or courage had been permeating his gaze so far, whatever defiance he had managed to wear as a façade, they all fell apart as soon as the words left Gargan’s lips. The boy could feel the blood drain from his cheeks as he grew pale and his empty stomach sunk to the floor, because his worst fear was coming true and _he was the one to blame_.

“You see, I had a very interesting conversation with Toomes a few minutes ago”, Gargan continued, getting back to his feet and seeming pleased with Peter’s reaction. “And he gave me a valuable tip as to how to keep you on the line, since apparently you have no respect for me”, he scoffed, still smiling to himself. “So I decided to send someone _special_ to keep an eye on your Aunt May, and also a _gun_ aimed at her head at all times for safe measure. I’d say unless you want Aunt May to kick the bucket”, he gestured vaguely with his hands to the sides, as if he was presenting Peter with an unmissable opportunity; “you’re going to do as I say”.

Peter sat very still, trying to control his panicking breathing and _think._ Oh god, he needed to think. This was his fault. If he had kept his mouth shut, if he had _complied_ – then Gargan would have never sought out Toomes and Toomes would have never told him about Aunt May.

He was strong, and he was _Spider-Man_ – he could take a beating from a man like Gargan. Damn, he was already healing himself from the previous beating, even if it had only been a few hours and he was sitting on an empty stomach. But Aunt May didn’t have an enhanced metabolism or superpowers, and Aunt May definitely wouldn’t heal as fast as Peter. In fact, a beating like this could even kill her, just as much as a bullet in the head certainly would – and that was something Peter would never, _ever_ forgive himself for.

“What do you _want_?”, Peter asked with a shaky voice, allowing himself to falter and show weakness for the first time since his capture. He knew that he shouldn’t let Gargan know how important May was for him, or the man would only use it as leverage – but Peter was young, and Peter was afraid, and he didn’t want to lose his aunt. He would have to comply to these men’s requests, as much as the mere thought of doing so made him feel sick.

Gargan, however, seemed to find Peter’s fear amusing, because he was chuckling and throwing his head back at the boy’s fearful words. Peter wanted nothing more than to punch him, but sat very still on the chair, feeling like whatever he did could be interpreted as an act of resistance and thus result on Aunt May’s death.

“Not so brave now, are you, rich boy?”, the Scorpion teased, fishing a phone out of his pocket and throwing it upwards, only to catch it midair. “Here’s what’s going to happen”, he said, waving the phone in front of Peter and sounding more serious than before. “You’re gonna call your daddy and tell him to send the tech to the address I texted him. You’re gonna be _very convincing_ , because if he doesn’t deliver, your aunt’s gonna pay the price. We clear?”, he raised an inquiring eyebrow at Peter.

Peter swallowed dry, fighting back tears of fear and anger. He didn’t want any of this to happen. This was his worst nightmares all wrapped up in one – Aunt May’s life in danger, and him ruining his relationship with Tony. Because there was no way Tony would _ever_ forgive him for all this – not only for getting himself captured like an idiot, but for making the man lose money and tech over _him_.

But he couldn’t let Aunt May die. That simply wasn’t an option.

Maybe he could try to tell Tony what was really happening. Maybe he could tell him – without actually using the words – to go after May, to save her first, or at least let him know _why_ Peter was trying to convince him to comply with these criminals. Peter didn’t want Tony to think he was weak, or that he had broken under Gargan’s beatings, or that he was a _coward_ – he needed Tony to know that he was being _forced_ into this, that he was only doing this to protect his aunt. He needed Tony to know. It was important for him that Tony _knew_.

“We clear or _not_ , rich boy?”, Gargan urged at Peter’s lack of response, the amusement on his face starting to mix up with something more dangerous and impatient. There was a moment of silence in which nothing could be heard other than Peter’s ragged, pained breaths, and the boy lowered his head in grief for what he was being forced to do. He only hoped that, one day, Tony could forgive him for all this, and understand that Peter had no other choice but to try and save his aunt.

“We’re clear”, Peter sighed in defeat.

 

 

 

 

Tony stared at the screen of his ringing phone for a few moments in apprehension before picking up the call.

“Hello?”, he said, in the most steady voice he could muster.

“M-Mr. Stark?”

Tony’s strength immediately left his body and he sagged against the backrest of his chair, covering his face with one trembling hand. Thousands of emotions coursed through his body at the same time, and he took a deep breath to control himself before he could lose his calm. There was relief, for hearing Peter’s voice after almost three days in the dark; worry, for the way the boy’s voice wavered and trembled with something that seemed to be a mixture of pain and fear; apprehension, because if they had finally allowed Peter to get in touch with him in person, this couldn’t be good; and these were just the first emotions his rushing brain registered. He tried to keep himself calm for the kid’s sake, because right at that moment, it was _Peter_ that needed him, and not the other way around, so he needed to be strong for the boy. He could freak out later, when he had time to spare. Rhodes and Happy were watching him with close attention, not knowing who it was on the other end of the call.

“Kid”, Tony breathed out, noticing how Happy’s shoulders sagged and Rhodes’ tensed up at the simple word. He carefully went back to tracking Peter’s location with the aid of the Chitauri device, and now that he had the boy on the line, he could get a location faster than before. “How are you holding up? Are you ok?”, he asked, trying to sound conversational but not quite managing to hide the worry from his tone.

“I’m okay, Mr. Stark”, Peter reassured him, sounding like he was lying for Tony’s sake. It was very usual for Peter to do this after missions and patrols that went wrong – he never told Tony when he was injured or hurt, and always used _that_ tone of voice when he was trying to hide something from Tony, as if not to make him worry. Little did he know that Tony _always_ worried about him. “That’s… That’s n-not why I’m calling”, he sounded like he was forcing the words out.

“I figured that much”, Tony agreed grievously. As soon as he heard Peter’s voice on the phone, he knew that this could only mean a shitstorm was on its way. There was no reason why Gargan would let him speak to the boy unless there was some bigger reason behind it. “Are you on speaker?”, Tony asked, because even though he already knew the answer to that question, he would rather be safe than sorry.

“Yeah”, Peter said, sounding almost apologetic. Tony clicked his tongue, never ceasing to type down on the computer and try to track Peter. He was almost getting a location. He was so close.

“It’s ok, you’re alright”, Tony tried his best to sound reassuring despite of his concern and anxiety. He needed to stay strong. He needed to stay strong for _Peter_. He was good at managing crises. He could do this.

“Mr. Stark, I’m so sorry”, the boy said, sounding like he was on the verge of tears. Tony frowned, not knowing how to react to that. He had never heard – or seen – Peter cry before, and since he didn’t have eyes on the boy at that moment, he couldn’t tell if Peter was actually about to cry or if this was just an act he was putting up in front of Gargan. He really hoped it was the last option, because if Gargan was actually making his kid cry, than he was a _dead man_.

“Peter”, Tony called, trying to reassure him. _Shit_. Peter was so young. He shouldn’t have to go through this. He shouldn’t be crying on the phone or be stuck as a hostage or receive beatings from criminals who had mistaken him for Tony’s son. This was all Tony’s fault. “ _Pete_. It’s ok. Just breathe, alright? I’m coming for you”, he added.

“You _c-can’t_ ”, Peter protested, sounding desperate all of a sudden. Tony’s frown deepened. “Please, Mr. Stark. You… You have to do as they said”, the boy pleaded. Tony frowned. It wasn’t like Peter to comply to criminals. If anything, the fact that Gargan had beaten him up showed that Peter wasn’t exactly being compliant in the first place, otherwise there would be no reason to punish him.

“Pete?”, Tony asked, confused and slightly suspicious.

“Do you… Do you remember that trip we had planned? For my next school break?”, Peter asked, sounding so innocent and young Tony wanted to rip his hair off for allowing him to get hurt. There was no trip planned, but Peter was clearly making this up in order to tell Tony something that he didn’t want Gargan to know, since the call was on speaker.

“Yeah, of course”, Tony said, playing Peter’s game.

“It was in June, right? Or… or… I can’t really remember the month”, Peter said, coughing lightly. The sound sent a renewed sparkle of worry through Tony’s crazed heart. “But I think it was around June”, the boy added quietly. Tony frowned again. Around June? So that could only mean July, or… Or…

Tony’s face fell in realization and dread. _May_.

“I just… I really want to make it to the trip, Mr. Stark”, the boy continued, and god, this kid was so smart, he was so _brilliant_ , Tony wanted nothing more than to ruffle his hair and give him the whole world. “I’d… I’d hate to miss it. So please… Just do as these guys ask, ok? I’m really, _really_ worried about missing this trip”, he continued, the hint of desperation in his voice making Tony’s chest tighten.

Tony swallowed dry, lips forming a thin line.

“Don’t worry, squirt. The trip’s safe, ok? It’s happening”, he said with a thick voice. “You’re going to get out of there, get patched up, and we’re going to have the time of our lives, alright? You’re going to be just fine. There’s nothing to worry about. I’ve got this”, he promised.

“G-Gargan wants me to tell you that if you don’t send the tech to the address he gave you he’ll – he’ll –“, Peter trailed off, as if afraid to continue.

“Tell Gargan he’ll get his tech”, Tony scoffed, anger boiling deep inside his stomach. “Just sit tight, Pete. I’ve got this. Everything will turn out ok. You just stay there, ok?” he added, heart leaping when his search finally reached an end and a coordinate blinked to life in the computer screen in front of him. Tony had successfully managed to track the call and he _had a location_.

All he needed was that Peter stayed there, at that precise location, and he would be able to get him out. If they moved, Tony wouldn’t be able to track them anymore, unless they contacted him again – which was improbable, given the fact that they probably knew they weren’t untraceable to Tony anymore.

“W-where else would I go?”, Peter managed a tiny chuckle, that sounded more nervous than anything. “I’m kind of tied up right now”.

“What a great comedic timing you’ve got, kid”, Tony said sarcastically, but the faint hint of a smile appeared on his lips. “Can’t wait to hear more of it during our trip”.

“I-It’s going to happen, right?”, Peter asked, eager for confirmation. Knowing that ‘the trip’ was just code for ‘making sure May was safe’, Tony complied.

“Sure it is”, he confirmed. “I’m not going to let something as dumb as a kidnapping take this trip away from us. I know how _important_ it is to you, and we’ve been planning it for a long time. It’s happening, ok? I’m sending someone to… _buy the tickets_ as we speak. You just sit tight and stay there. I’m going to get you out”.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark”, Peter breathed out, sounding relieved. “Thank –“, he was interrupted by a muffled sound of someone picking the phone up.

“That’s enough bullshit”, Gargan was suddenly on the line, and Tony was under the impression that the call wasn’t on speaker anymore. “You have until this evening to send the tech to the address I texted you. If you don’t, lil’ Pete will get worse than a beating this time”, he threatened. “And lose way more, too”.

Before Tony could think of a reply, the line went dead.

He felt weak as he put the phone down and stared at the coordinates in front of him, barely noticing the way Rhodes’ hand squeezed his shoulder. It was possible that his friend was telling him something, but Tony didn’t have the time or the concentration to pay attention to it.

From what he could understand from the phone call, Gargan had either threatened Aunt May or made Peter believe she was under some sort of danger, which possibly explained why the boy hadn’t tried to escape yet. Peter should think twice before revealing himself as Spider-Man to _Gargan_ , a person who literally wanted to kill him, but he definitely _couldn’t_ reveal his identity when the revenge-thirsty man knew who May was and where she lived.

The address Tony had traced was about 2 hours away, even in his suit’s speed. It appeared to be an abandoned facility in the middle of nowhere – the perfect hiding place for the typical bad guy looking for a lair. It was isolate enough that no one would be around to suspect the weird movement or (Tony shuddered at the thought) hear the screams. He figured that Gargan had received word from Toomes about Mason being caught and, assuming Tony had gotten his hands on the Chitauri tech – which he had –, he would probably try to change locations before Tony could trace him. However, Tony had _already_ traced him.

If he left the apartment now, there was a good chance he could get to Peter before Gargan managed to hide him away again. Even if the criminal and his group of thugs managed to evacuate the facility in less than the two hours it would take Tony to get there, they wouldn’t be able to get Peter to the new location in that same time, not when the factory they were staying at was so isolated. If Tony didn’t catch them on the factory, he would catch them on the road – either way, he would be able to get Peter.

But he had also promised Peter that he would keep Aunt May safe, and if something happened to her, the boy would _never_ forgive him. Taking all this into consideration, Tony suddenly stood up from the chair, as if awaking from a trance. He grabbed the Chitauri frequency alterer and the second mysterious alien device, shoved them back into Mason’s empty bag and handed it over to Happy, who stared at him with confusion and worry.

“Rhodey, buddy, gonna need you to do me a big favor”, Tony said with only half of his focus, not looking at his friend and turning off Mason’s laptop, which he also shoved in the bag Happy was holding.

“Was that Peter on the call? What did he say? Is he ok?”, Rhodes continued to ask, Tony finally tuning back on his voice after shutting it out while he thought. He didn’t have time to answer all the questions Rhodes and Happy had for him – he needed to concentrate on what mattered, which was finding Peter before Gargan could move him to another location.

“I need you to go to Peter’s place”, Tony turned on his heels, finally looking Rhodes in the eyes for the first time after he hung up the phone. He tapped the back of his hand at Rhodes’ chest as if to show the seriousness of his request. There was no one in the world Tony trusted more than Rhodey – except, maybe, for Pepper – and he knew that they were stuck in a race against time. Tony could either ensure May’s safety or ensure Peter’s – he couldn’t do both. He needed to get to Peter, but couldn’t allow May to get hurt in the process. There was no better man than Rhodey to ensure the woman’s safety when Tony couldn’t. “You need to take his aunt back to the SI headquarters. She’s possibly being threatened, or could be in real danger – just _don’t_ let anything happen to her”, he asked, trying to be as emphatic as he could.

“Are you gonna tell me what the hell is going on?”, Rhodes raised an impatient eyebrow, crossing his arms above his chest.

“I got a location, but I _have_ to leave now”, Tony explained, grabbing both of Rhodes’ arms as if to emphasize his hurry. His voice sounded frantic and urgent, but he didn’t really care at the moment. “I promised Peter I’d keep his aunt safe, and I trust you with my _life_ , so you need to do this for me”, he breathed out, desperate eyes locked on Rhodes’. His best friend stared at him for a few moments, as if trying to read the emotion in his gaze, before nodding solemnly in acceptance.

“Fine. I’m getting her to safety”, he complied. “But I’m coming back to help you as soon as I’m sure she’s safe”, he added, pointing a finger at Tony.

“Whatever suits you best, dear”, Tony agreed, already distracted again as he stepped into his Iron Man suit, which was still standing guard by the door. The suit opened itself up to him and enveloped him in less than a moment, already prepared to take off.

“I already have Peter’s current location locked in”, Friday offered him in the place of a proper greeting. “Estimated time of arrival: one hour and fifty eight minutes. Would you like me to attempt to set a tracker in the phone which made the call?”, she offered.

“It’s probably a burner and I don’t think Gargan will be taking it with him when they hit the road”, Tony clicked his tongue in deep thought. “But you might as well. Maybe he’s as dumb as he is evil”.

“Working on it”, Friday replied.

“What about me?”, Happy asked, turning to look at Tony’s armored form. He was still holding the bar in one hand and the bag with the alien device on another, looking like he wanted to help but didn’t know how.

“Take him to the police”, Tony instructed, nodding at Mason’s still sitting form on the floor. “Leave the alien tech on the trunk of the car and give them the laptop as evidence of his guilt. I’ll stop by to testify once I get Peter back”.

“Is it safe to leave at the trunk of the car?”, Happy asked with a frown. Tony squinted his eyes at him in confusion.

“Why _wouldn’t_ it be?”, he frowned.

“I don’t understand this alien mumbo jumbo like you do”, Happy justified. “What if it heats up in the trunk and blows your car up?”

“For _fuck’s sake_ – just – it’s not going to _explode_ , just do as I said”, Tony suppressed the urge to facepalm, shaking his head and sighing instead. “I can’t waste time with this. Gotta go”, he announced.

Before Happy could answer, Tony was bursting out of the apartment through the window, scattering pieces of broken glass all around the place. Rhodes and Happy covered their faces with their hands at the sudden burst of air from the suit’s takeoff, but as soon as they recovered, Tony was already disappearing up in the sky. Rhodes tapped his clothes in order to rid himself of any possible reminiscent of the glass before turning to step inside his War Machine suit, which was already open and waiting for him.

“You need a lift?”, Rhodes offered as the faceplate of his suit closed, turning towards Happy. The driver gave him an annoyed look.

“I’m good”, he huffed, throwing the bag with the alien tech over his shoulder and turning towards Mason, who was still sitting on the floor looking very confused and frightened.

“Don’t worry about the car, it’s not going to blow up”, Rhodes reassured him. “Just do what Tony asked. I’m calling you as soon as I get May to the HQ – I want to go help Tony find the kid, and I don’t want to leave her unguarded. Keep an eye on her while I’m away, ok?”, he asked.

“Ok”, Happy nodded. Rhodes turned on his heels and seemed ready to take off in a very similar way to Tony, but before he could do so, Happy shouted after him. Rhodes turned his helmeted head to look at the driver. “Just – Just let me know when you guys get Peter, ok?”, he asked, barely managing to hide the guilt and worry in his voice.

“Will do”, was Rhodes’ simple reply before he took off with a blast of his repulsors, disappearing into the sky as quickly as Tony had a mere minute before. Happy watched him go with weariness before turning back to Mason. The man was still sitting on the floor, but now wore a determined look on his face as if he was about to try and make an escape, since he was left to Happy’s care.

Before Mason could attempt anything, Happy sucker punched him again, making him fall unconscious on his side.

“That was for Peter, you dick” he said, waving his hand quickly beside his body as if to relieve the pain in his knuckles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Gargan finds out that Peter is Spider-Man and he is _not_ pleased


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a somewhat graphic description of a compound fracture in this chapter, so be advised!

As soon as Gargan ended the call, he turned on his heels and pointed a finger at the man who had been watching Peter for the time being.

“You”, he announced, marching his way towards the man with a quick pace, as if they were suddenly in a race against time. “Go tell Eddie we gotta be on the move right now. Gather all the tech up and put it in the trunk. We’re moving to the secondary location”.

The man frowned at him, clearly confused by the orders, but slowly got to his feet anyway.

“That… wasn’t the plan”, he pointed out, earning an annoyed eye-roll from Gargan. The Scorpion sighed and turned his head towards him, a look of disbelief evident on his face.

“I know it _wasn’t_ the plan, dipshit, but that is the plan _now_ ”, he said, impatience dripping from his tone. He grabbed the man’s elbow and pushed him forwards, towards the exit of the room, as a mother would do to a stubborn child. “Now go and do as I said. I want to leave this place in fifteen before Stark gets here”, he added. Peter’s head perked up at this despite of his tiredness, and so did the henchman’s.

“Stark’s coming here?”, he asked, unable to keep the fear from his voice. Peter watched the exchange with careful attention, glad that his swollen eye was starting to go back to normal, albeit slowly, even with the lack of food in his body. It was in moments like this he felt really thankful for having such a fast healing – as long as everything was in its proper place, his metabolism could take care of the rest.

However, the henchman’s constant questioning of Gargan’s orders, even if unintentional, seemed to be driving the man to the edge of his patience. With an angry scowl, he fished out one of his knifes from his hip holster, pointing it threateningly towards the henchman’s neck. The man froze on the spot, eyes widening, but Gargan still had a tight grip on his elbow.

“You know what happened to the last motherfucker who asked me too many questions?”, he said, offering the man a vicious smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “ _Do ya_?”, he urged at the man’s lack of response.

“N-no”, the man admitted, raising his free hand as if to show he meant no harm.

“Unless you wanna learn that first hand, you’re gonna shut your damn mouth and do as I _said_ ”, he spat out, punctuating the last word with a shove at the man’s elbow, which sent him staggering back nervously as if he was trying to put as much distance between himself and Gargan’s knife as possible. “I swear to fucking _god_ I ain’t never gonna work with Toomes and his dumb-ass crew again”, he muttered to himself in frustration, running a hand across his face as the man literally fled the room without looking back.

Gargan ignored Peter completely as he went around the factory room picking up equipment that was lying around and gathering it all in a corner so that it could be transported faster. He was muttering some curses and complaints under his breath, and even though Peter could have easily listened to what the man was saying thanks to his enhanced hearing, he didn’t have enough concentration to do so. Because according to Gargan, Tony was coming for him. Tony was coming to _get him_ , and he had been painfully clear, during the phone call, that Peter needed to stay where he was. He needed to stay at this factory, or the billionaire wouldn’t be able to find him again.

Peter couldn’t deny that, despite of the fear he was feeling regarding Aunt May’s safety, he was so _relieved_ for having spoken to Tony. He had spent days without hearing his – his _mentor_ ’s voice, and to hear Tony’s comforting words and reassuring tone had done wonders for his current panicked state. He was still aching, and he was still very much afraid, but Tony had understood his coded message about Aunt May, and he had promised that he would protect her. That was all Peter had ever wanted from the moment he first woke up in this hell.

Furthermore, Tony didn’t sound… _mad_ at him for being taken as a hostage, or for making the man lose money and potentially his tech. If anything, Tony had sounded almost worried over the phone, but that could have been just Peter’s imagination playing tricks on him. Of _course_ Peter knew Tony cared about him, but he had always interpreted the sentiment as a result of Tony feeling responsible for him, as in: he would get in trouble if Peter got hurt. Peter had never stopped to think about the possibility that maybe, just maybe, Tony saw him as much as a son as Peter saw him as a – as a –

The thought was interrupted by one of the crooks, Eddie, bursting into the room with an extremely confused and even a bit offended look on his face. Gargan snapped his head to look at the man, incredulity overcoming his expression as he realized that, instead of following his orders, Eddie had decided to come speak to him first. He got to his feet from where he had been crouching on the floor to finish gathering the last of the equipment, and stood very still as Eddie basically jogged across the room to reach him.

“The fuck is going on, man?!”, Eddie asked as soon as he got within Gargan’s hearing range, gesturing widely with his arms to the side. His half-jog finally came to a stop as he reached the Scorpion. “You scared Brooke half to death. He wasn’t making any sense, coming downstairs and talking about Stark coming for us or some shit”.

Gargan ran another tired hand across his face, holding the other to his hip. He didn’t look at Eddie as he tilted his head to the side, shaking it in something akin to disapproval, before dropping it and sighing heavily. He looked like it was taking every ounce of his self-control for him not to snap Eddie’s neck at the spot.

“You wanna know what’s going on, Eddie?”, he asked, his tone so calm and patient that the contrast with his shouted words from mere minutes before was astounding. “You _really_ want to know what’s going on?”, he raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, man”, Eddie frowned, not understanding Gargan’s sudden – and uncharacteristic – display of gentleness.

“What’s going on”, Gargan took a step towards Eddie, a playful smile appearing on his lips. “Is that your boss is a goddamn moron who can plan _shit_ to save his own ass”, he said in the same calm tone, which only made the smile on his face look even more terrifying. “And what’s _also_ going on”, he continued, taking another step towards Eddie, who this time took an instinctive step back, “is that everything went to _hell_ because he didn’t let me kill that fatfaced pet of his, and now Stark _possibly_ has our location”, he concluded. Eddie’s face paled at the words. Peter watched the exchange with sharp attention.

“Fuck”, he said simply, eyes fixed on Gargan. His eyes darted helplessly across the floor in front of him as if he was trying to think of a solution, and one of his hands itched nervously at the back of his neck. “Ok. All right. We gotta keep it cool, man”, he added, sounding like he was talking to himself, rather than Gargan.

“ _You_ keep it cool, bro”, Gargan chuckled and tilted his head at Eddie, even though there was no humor in his eyes. “I’m working on getting the fuck out of here before Stark comes bursting into the place, which is why I told that moron to go warn you”, he shrugged. “But instead of obeying my orders, you came up here to ask me questions like a fucking kindergartener. Do you need help to wipe your ass, too?”, Gargan pushed Eddie’s shoulder with a hand. The smile was slowly disappearing from his lips, and the grimace taking its place perfectly matched the danger in Gargan’s eyes.

“Whoa, calm down”, Eddie protested, regaining his balance. “ _Jesus_ , Gargan, chill. We’re gonna start packing up and get out of here, ok?”, he said, going back to looking offended. “Did you talk to Toomes?”, he asked, raising a hand as if to tell Gargan to keep his distance.

“Yeah, I talked to Toomes”, Gargan scoffed with disdain. “He’s the one who _kindly suggested_ we move to the second location in case Stark is really coming over to throw our asses back in jail”.

“And… is he giving us the tech or not?”, Eddie continued, looking around as if suddenly afraid someone would overhear them. Despite of his evident fear, he took a hesitant step closer to Gargan, as if he wanted to share a secret. “Because honestly, man, we already got the money he deposited. I ain’t gonna risk getting back to jail just because of some tech we might not even get”, he admitted. Gargan squinted his eyes at him in suspicion.

“You _bailing_?”, he asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise. Peter wasn’t sure if Gargan was offended by that possibility, or if he was tempted by it. Apparently, neither did Eddie.

“I’m just asking if we’re getting the tech or not”, Eddie responded instead, evasive. Gargan studied the man’s face for several silent moments, his gaze so intensely fixed on Eddie that it was verging on creepy. As if having an epiphany, he turned his head towards Peter, noticing the boy for the first time ever since the phone call.

Peter did his best to keep his currently healing face impassive as Gargan glared at him, almost as if accusing the boy. He didn’t dare to move on the chair, barely even breathing as the Scorpion’s focus turned to him. However, Gargan’s attention on him was short-spanned, and he soon went back to grabbing Eddie’s elbow, which startled the man.

“Let’s talk outside”, he said simply, pulling Eddie alongside him until they both disappeared from Peter’s view. The sound of a door closing a moment after indicated they were gone.

The boy let out a shaky breath he didn’t even realize he had been holding, lowering his head and trying to recompose himself. There were so many emotions coursing through him that he wasn’t sure which one to focus on first, so he decided to control his breathing and try to use his enhanced hearing to listen to what Gargan was saying. He was still in a bit of pain – even though it was starting to get better – and the lack of food was making him feel slightly lightheaded, but he still did his best to concentrate. If Gargan had bothered to leave the room in order to speak to Eddie, it could only mean that he didn’t want Peter to know whatever he was about to say. And if he didn’t want Peter to know, it was definitely important – the man had failed to show any kind of boundary in front of Peter so far.

His senses were a bit confused and definitely not as accurate as they would have been if Peter was well-fed and rested, but he still managed to pick most of what Gargan was saying at the corridor just outside the door.

“Toomes had me tell the brat we had his aunt so we could force him to make Stark give us the tech without bitching about it”, Gargan was saying in a low voice. “Stark said he would deliver it, but I don’t buy it. If he got hands on Mason, that means he got hands on the Chitauri tech”.

“So you don’t think he’s gonna meet his end of the deal?”, Eddie asked.

“Nah, man. Stark’s smart. There’s no reason why he should give us the tech when he can track us down. He _said_ he would, but if I was one to trust people’s words, I’d be dead already. So we gotta make a choice here”, there was a small pause, as if Gargan was checking his surroundings and ensuring no one else was listening. Thankfully, he had no idea Peter had superhearing abilities. “We can either do what Toomes said – go to the secondary location, wait for Stark to deliver the weapons and get the hell out of here as rich sons of bitches – or we can do… an alternate solution”.

Eddie hummed low, as if considering Gargan’s proposal.

“I’m only telling you this ‘cause I like you, Eds”, Gargan continued, sounding almost sympathetic. “You seem like a decent guy. And you’re not as much of a dipshit as the rest of Toomes’ crew. You’ve got potential”, he snorted. “You were right before. We already got the money. Stark could deliver the weapons as I told him to, but he could also be on his way here right now as we speak. So we gotta chose what will suit us best. Toomes’ already in jail anyway; he ain’t got nothing to lose. But we – we could get sent back like two morons because we decided to listen to his orders. We could lose the money we already got because of some weapons we ain’t even sure we’re gonna get. You know what they say: a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. We could either trust Stark to give us the tech he promised and become rich motherfuckers, or leave with what we already got and be… slightly less rich, but still pretty much wealthy motherfuckers”.

“I don’t know, man”, Eddie hesitated, sounding clearly conflicted in a way that he hadn’t been minutes prior. “I’ve been working with Toomes for years now. Guy’s decent. Doesn’t feel right to bail on him like that”, he admitted.

“So you’d rather go back to jail because of _loyalty_?”, Gargan scoffed, disgusted.

“It’s not that, it’s just…”, Eddie hesitated again. When he continued, his voice was barely above a whisper, as if afraid that he would be overheard. “If Toomes finds out that I betrayed his trust, I’ll be a dead man”.

“You might be that too, if Stark gets to you”, Gargan pointed out. “You think he’ll be all gentle with the people who kidnapped his _son_? The more time we waste having this discussion, the more time that fucker has to find us and snap our necks. I don’t know about you, but I ain’t looking forward to having my neck snapped”, he scoffed again. Steps resonated across the corridor, as if Gargan was walking away. Peter did his best to maintain his concentration on the talk, despite of the discomfort and pain he was feeling with each breath he took.

“Wait”, Eddie called after Gargan. The sound of footsteps ceased. “Didn’t…”, he hesitated again, sounding almost remorseful. “Didn’t you say we got the boy’s aunt? If we send Stark some pictures, maybe he’ll… I don’t know, maybe he’ll think twice before coming over here. I don’t – I don’t know, man, it just doesn’t feel right, playing Toomes like that. He’s dangerous”, he said, sounding almost desperate.

“You’re the one who suggested it first”, Gargan pointed out, sounding defensive and scornful. “But whatever, dude”, he added matter-of-factly. “We can’t do that, anyway. We don’t actually have his aunt”.

Peter blinked his eyes several times, trying to comprehend the words he had just heard. It felt as if the world had come to a stop, the floor disappearing from beneath his tied feet.

“Oh”, Eddie said, taken aback and completely ignorant of Peter’s reaction from inside the room. “I thought you said –“

“Yeah, we just needed the brat to _believe_ we had his aunt”, Gargan explained conversationally. Peter saw red, feeling more stupid than he ever had in his life. “We ain’t got the time or the people to go ‘round kidnapping someone else, and we needed the kid to make Stark comply _fast_. It was all Toomes’ plan, man. I don’t really think it’s going to work out, though. Stark said he’d give us the tech, but… there was something in his voice. I don’t think he’s actually gon’ do it. I think he’ll try to track us, and if he does… I don’t intend on being here by the time he arrives”.

“Shit, man”, was Eddie’s only comment to this, sounding helpless.

Peter couldn’t believe his ears. He couldn’t believe anything Gargan was saying. So they had lied to him? They had used him, and manipulated him, and made him talk Tony into giving them dangerously technology in what he believed to be the only way to protect his aunt’s life? Peter’s breath caught in his throat as he tried to inhale past his anger. He couldn’t believe he had been so stupid. He couldn’t believe he had been so overcome by fear that he believed every word – every threat – that came out of a criminal’s mouth. He couldn’t believe he had been so easily manipulated, so easily _used_.

What would Tony think of him, learning of how Gargan had played him like a fool? What would Tony think of him, knowing that Peter had asked him to deliver to his kidnappers’ requests in exchange for nothing? What would Tony think of him, knowing Peter had been so _weak_?

“Do whatever you want, man”, Gargan told Eddie, unaware of Peter’s growing, _boiling_ anger inside the next room. “I made my choice already. If you wanna get the hell out of here – just let me know. I ain’t gonna stay to be Stark’s bitch when he arrives”.

Peter gritted his teeth, anger and frustration overwhelming him. All this time, he had remained submissive and unresponsive in order to protect his aunt, in order to preserve her wellbeing. Now, he learned that she had never been in danger in the first place – they never even bothered to _go after_ her. Toomes knew that just the threat of hurting her would be enough to tame Peter into compliance, and this was exactly what had happened.

He had a choice to make. And he needed to make it _fast_.

Peter knew of Gargan’s decision to bail and leave with the money he had already gotten from Tony, instead of following Toomes’ plan and taking him to the secondary location, away from Tony’s possible – no one seemed to know for sure whether he was actually coming for him or not – rescue mission. Eddie, on the other hand, still seemed to be hesitant about going with Gargan, despite of the fact that he had been the one to come up with the plan in the first place.

 There was no way to tell what side the rest of the henchmen would take – Toomes’ or Gargan’s –, but, from what Peter had learned from Gargan’s angry mutterings, most of the crew had previously worked with Toomes before this particular kidnapping mission. He wouldn’t like to bet his safety on the loyalty of criminals, but if Eddie, who seemed to be the least loyal of Toomes’ crew, was having a hard time betraying the Vulture, Peter thought it would be safe to assume that most of the henchmen would have the same fear. Which meant that they were very likely to follow Toomes’ plan and move Peter to a secondary, unknown location.

He didn’t know if Tony would be able to track him in this second location. In fact, he didn’t even know for sure if Tony had managed to track him in this _current_ location – but he had emphatically told Peter to stay where he was, as if it was primordial that he didn’t move. If Gargan was scared to the point of escaping with the money he already had, instead of staying back to dig for more, then Peter had to assume that Tony was actually coming for him. He _wanted_ to believe Tony was coming for him.

But it would be useless for Tony to come for Peter, only to find the factory deserted. This was what would happen, if Peter allowed himself to be taken to the second location.

So he had a choice to make.

He needed to think. He needed to evaluate his options and _think_.

They didn’t really have Aunt May, which meant he was finally free to fight back without putting her in danger, especially now that he had successfully asked Tony to protect her. Tony was most probably coming for him, after having successfully tracked his location – the evidence to support this was Gargan’s hurry to get away. Everyone seemed to be sure that, should Peter be moved to a secondary location, Tony would no longer be able to track him and would be forced to give the tech they had demanded in exchange for him, which meant that Peter needed to stay _exactly_ where he was in order for Tony to find him.

He sighed. The only solution he had was to fight back against the people who wanted to move him to the secondary location.

Peter didn’t really want to reveal his identity as Spider-Man – especially not to Gargan, of all people – but this was the first concrete chance he had to escape in _days_. He could finally get home, and get a proper meal, and take a shower, and sleep on a bed, rather than a chair. His hungry stomach growled at the mere thought. He could finally get back to May, and to Tony, and to Ned, and to his normal routine of school-patrol-workshop. Tony was coming for him – he had to believe that –, so he needed to stay there for Tony to find him. And, in order to stay there, he needed to resist the people trying to make him leave.

He groaned in pain and discomfort as he struggled against the wires binding his wrists. He had grown somewhat accustomed to them – they were still very painful, but it felt as if he had grown used to the feeling. However, dislodging them from their position and trying to snap them apart proved itself to be more painful that Peter had calculated. Still, it was not as if he had too much time to spare – Gargan was on his way back to the room and Peter wanted to get free before the man returned. So he gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut and bit back the sob forming at his throat as he mustered all the strength he had left to snap the wires tying his wrists apart.

The pain was unbearable and the feeling of fresh, warm blood trickling down his hands and fingers was making him sick, but he forced himself to continue. He could do this. He was Spider-Man. He _had_ to do this. If he didn’t do this, these men would win.

The bindings snapped apart, and Peter didn’t waste any time on flexing his shoulders, which were sore from staying so long in the same position, before removing the wires from where they had embedded themselves to his flesh. Peter hissed at the pain but felt relieved by the absence of the metal around his still bleeding wrists. He noted with relief that the flow of blood from the cuts wasn’t too heavy, which meant he had avoided severing anything major.

In a hurry, Peter freed his ankles from the wires binding him to his chair, thankful that they hadn’t received as much damage as his wrists because of the fabric of the pants protecting them. In a sudden thought, he figured that forcing these criminals to play hide-and-seek would buy him more time than engaging in close combat right away, especially in the weakened state he was in. Just as Gargan opened the door to the room, Peter dodged to the nearest wall and climbed it up, until he was crouching in a very spider-like manner on one of the girders that supported the ceiling of the factory.

Maybe he could give Tony the time he needed to get there and put an end to this nightmare once and for all.

 

 

 

 

 

May was understandably surprised when the War Machine armor came bursting into her living room, so suddenly and unexpectedly that she nearly jumped out of her skin. The soup she had been cooking spilled all over the kitchen floor when she accidentally knocked the pot off the stove in her shock, yelping.

The suit opened itself up and Rhodes stepped out of it, urgency evident in his face and in his rushed steps to get to May. He looked at her from head to toe, as if checking for injuries, before taking his hands to her arms in a gentle gesture. Once he concluded she was unharmed, he started looking around, as if checking the perimeter for any possible threats. May frowned at him.

“May Parker, I’m Colonel James Rhodes”, he announced, since he and Peter’s aunt had never been introduced – or even met each other – before.

“I know who you are”, she said before he could continue, still looking shocked. The frown between her brows deepened. “You – You’re the War Machine. Or – the Iron Patriot; I don’t know which anymore”.

“Yes”, Rhodes nodded. “And I’m also a friend of Tony’s. He asked me to come get you”, Rhodes explained. May’s face fell.

“Is this about Peter?”, she asked, hope and fear sparkling in her eyes. “Did he find him?”

“He found a possible location”, Rhodes said, leading the woman away from the stove and towards the living room, where the suit was ready and waiting for him. “I need you to come with me to the Stark Industries headquarters. Happy will keep you company while I go after Tony and help him find Peter”, he instructed as briefly as he could, knowing he didn’t have time to waste.

“Is he ok? Did they hurt him? Did Tony speak to him?”, May started asking a series of questions, desperate to know about her nephew. Rhodes continued to look around in suspicion as he led her towards the suit. If Gargan or Toomes had made Peter believe May was in danger, then there was a chance that she could be being watched from a nearby building, or maybe even a sniper had her on their aim. Rhodes wasn’t about to take any chances, which was why he positioned the War Machine armor strategically in front of the window, as if to block any possible incoming.

“Did you notice anything weird in the past few days?”, Rhodes asked, ignoring May’s string of questions and going back to looking at her. “Any strange movement, people following you, or something like that?”

May went back to frowning in confusion at him.

“No”, she shook her head seriously. “I barely even left the apartment after Tony came over; I didn’t want Peter to come back and find me gone”, she explained. “I didn’t do much other than stress-cook for the past three days, but I didn’t notice anything wrong, no”, she gestured back at the kitchen. There were several pots and pans all over the stove and the sink, apparently filled with food. Rhodes raised an impressed eyebrow. “Why? Should I have? What’s going on?”, she added, sounding a bit frantic.

“It’s fine”, Rhodes reassured her. From his thorough, albeit brief assessment, it didn’t seem like May was under any sort of imminent threat. They had probably lied to Peter about her being in danger in order to make Tony comply, but it would still be better to take her to the SI headquarters, just in case. She would be safer there, with Happy keeping an eye on her, than if Rhodes left her all alone at the apartment. Plus, it would do Peter good to have his aunt around and safe once he was brought back, especially since he thought she was in danger.

“Colonel? What’s going on?”, May insisted, giving him an apprehensive look and worrying at her lower lip. Rhodes placed another comforting hand at her shoulder.

“We’re getting Peter back, but you need to come with me to the HQ”, he explained. May didn’t look too fond of the plan, but she didn’t object, either. “He’ll need you there for him when he arrives”, he added, knowing that this would be enough to convince her.

“Fine”, she said reluctantly, letting out a shaky breath. “Let me just –“, she said, before rushing back into the kitchen and turning off the stove and the oven. She grabbed her purse and threw her keys inside, heading back to where Rhodes was waiting for her. “Are we going inside – that?”, she pointed at the armor with a hesitant look.

“ _I’m_ going inside that”, Rhodes said. “But don’t worry, I’ll carry you. It’s the fastest way we can get there, and we don’t have time to lose”. As if to emphasize his point, Rhodes stepped inside the suit and allowed it to close around him, leaving only the faceplate lifted up. “I know it’s not ideal, and that you have a lot of questions about your nephew, but Happy will be able to explain everything to you once we get to SI”.

“Oh, god”, she said helplessly, pulling the purse to her shoulder and stepping closer to Rhodes. “What do I do – how do I –?”, she gestured at the suit, clearly not knowing how would be the best way for Rhodes to carry her.

“I’ve got you”, he said, approaching her slowly. “Just – put your hands around my neck and hold tight”, he instructed. May looked uncomfortable, but did as Rhodes said. Metallic arms enveloped her and held her close, the cold, hard surface of the suit pressing against her body. “I’m going to take off now”, Rhodes announced, not wanting to startle her by suddenly getting in the air. “Don’t worry – I’m not going to drop you”, he reassured. May nodded nervously.

He took off and left the apartment through the front window, carefully holding May and actually impressed that she hadn’t even yelped at the height they had reached in such a short span of time. Her eyes were wide and her face was pale, glasses slightly askew on her nose. However, the fear in her face didn’t seem to be related with the experience of flying for the first time with an iron suit, but with Peter’s state. Rhodes figured it would be for the best not to tell her too much right now – he had no idea how she would react if she learned of the beatings and the wire restraints.

They arrived at the Stark Industries Headquarters in little more than five minutes, Rhodes landing on the roof of the building a little more slowly than he was used to as if not to hurt or startle May on the impact. She dropped off the suit with shaky legs, still looking pale but very well composed. To Rhodes’ surprise, Happy was already there at the roof, waiting for them.

“Weren’t you supposed to take Mason to jail?”, Rhodes opened his faceplate and frowned, walking towards the man. May followed him close, folding her arms onto herself as if to maintain her warmth, since the roof of the building was very tall and the wind was blowing with unrelenting strength.

“I did”, Happy explained with a nonchalant tone. “I dropped him off, gave them the evidence and got here like you asked”, he added. Rhodes raised an impressed eyebrow at Happy’s driving speed.

“Hi, Happy”, May greeted, offering the man a tiny smile that looked more sad than anything else. Happy tried his best to hide the guilt in his eyes as he nodded to the woman. Happy picked Peter up and dropped him off so often that May already knew him, and at least it was a small comfort to have someone familiar around while she waited for Peter’s return.

She turned towards Rhodes, who had accompanied her to the entrance but didn’t look like he was about to walk her in. If anything, he looked eager to just take off already.

“Please bring my boy back to me”, May asked him, a constant, miserable frown on her face. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost him”, she admitted, shaking her head slightly.

“You won’t have to find out”, Rhodes promised, squeezing her shoulder gently despite of his hand being gauntleted. “I’m going to find Tony now”, he added, nodding at May but averting his eyes towards Happy, who nodded back at him. “You two sit tight. We’ll let you know as soon as we have news. It was a pleasure to meet you”, he smiled softly at May. “I only wish it had been in… better circumstances”, he admitted with an apologetic shrug.

“Likewise”, May gave him a sad smile, stepping closer to Happy and still hugging herself. Rhodes gave her a final nod and took a few steps back before closing the faceplate of his suit and taking off. May watched him disappear into the sky with weary eyes before allowing Happy to pass a hand around her shoulders and pull her towards the private elevator inside the building.

“Friday”, Rhodes instructed as soon as the faceplate closed and the HUD screen came to life in front of his eyes. “Tell Tony May is secure. She’s unharmed and with Happy back at the SI”.

“Right away, colonel”, Friday obeyed. “Boss has sent me the coordinates of Peter’s location and I have already put them into your suit’s GPS. I can turn on the autopilot function, if you desire”, she added.

“Just make me get there as fast as you can”, Rhodes responded.

“Of course”, the AI complied.

“And Friday?”, Rhodes raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side.

“Yes?”

“Tell Tones I’m on my way”, he said.

 

 

 

 

 

As soon as Gargan stepped back into the room and found Peter gone, he screamed in rage and kicked the empty chair with such strength that it flew several meters across the place. The scream was so loud that it made Eddie burst back into the room, a look of shock taking over his face.

“Oh, shit, man”, he shook his head, eyes widening. “Where the fuck did he go?”

“I swear to _fucking_ god!”, Gargan shouted in rage, pacing around in circles several times while he ran his hands through his short hair in deep thought.

“Toomes is gonna kill us”, Eddie whispered to himself in shock. “He’s gonna _fucking kill us_. We have to find him”, he started to look around in a hesitant, superficial way as if expecting to find Peter simply crouching behind a corner. Gargan continued to pace for a few more moments before shaking his head.

“Whatever, man, I’m getting the fuck out of here before this shit blows”, he announced, waving dismissively with his hand before marching over to where he had been gathering the equipment. Taking a bag from his messy pile of collected assets, he started to pack whatever tech he found valuable enough to take with himself.

“Wait!”, Eddie protested. “You can’t leave, dude! You gotta help me find the kid!”

“Fuck this kid, man, I’m outta here”, Gargan scoffed, never ceasing to pack the equipment. “He’s already trouble enough tied up, I don’t even want to imagine having to deal with him while he’s free”, he threw the heavy bag of alien technology over his shoulder and marched his way to the freezer. “You know if those idiots put my scotch in here? That shit’s expensive, I ain’t leaving it here for Stark to toast to y’all’s arrest”, he said, pulling the door of the freezer open.

This was probably the only functioning machinery in the abandoned factory, and they had used it to keep food and beverage during the kidnapping. It had been a bit difficult figuring out how to increase the temperature of the freezer, which was originally set to work at – 40º F, but once they did, it became a storage for everything they had to eat and drink – including Gargan’s scotch. They hadn’t shared any of the food with Peter, thanks to Gargan’s explicit orders, which meant there was still plenty provisions lying around in the freezer. Gargan spotted his expensive bottle of scotch right away and grabbed it, making sure to snatch a pack of frozen food for him to eat on the run. The low temperature of the freezer made him shiver.

“Shit”, Eddie whispered to himself, still stuck in his dilemma and frantically running his fingers through his hair. “Shit. Gargan, wait”, he announced, as if finally making a decision. “Wait up, man. I’m coming with you”.

“There’s a good boy”, Gargan teased, smirking as he shoved the cold bottle and the pack inside his bag and stepped out of the freezer, leaving the door open behind him. “If you really wanna come, go downstairs and grab that Chitauri tech. I don’t wanna leave it behind – it could be useful in the future”.

“Aight, man”, Eddie nodded, placing one hand on his hip and pointing a nervous finger at Gargan. “But don’t leave before I get back, I won’t take –“, he cut himself off. Gargan snapped his head to look at him, frowning.

“What?”, he asked, not understanding the reason behind Eddie’s abrupt interruption.

“What the _fuck_?”, was the man’s horrified response. The finger that Eddie was pointing at Gargan had suddenly become red with blood, even though he wasn’t injured or hurt in anyway. Gargan’s frown deepened, placing the bag on the floor and walking over to the man, who was nervously trying to wipe the blood away on his own jacket.

“The hell, man?”, Gargan said, squinting his eyes at Eddie’s shoulder. There was a small blotch of red blossoming on the fabric of the jacket covering Eddie’s shoulder, as if blood had dripped on it from the ceiling. Gargan slowly raised his head to look at the structure above them, only to find, in shock, that _Peter_ was there, feet glued to a girder and hanging upside down from it, exactly like – _exactly_ like –

“Guess hide and seek didn’t last as long as I expected”, Peter said, sounding frustrated. His injured wrists were still bleeding and he hadn’t even realized they had been dripping blood until it fell on the man beneath him.

He didn’t waste time on seeing the look of outrageous realization blossom in Gargan’s face as he abruptly launched himself from the girder, landing a precise flying-kick against Eddie’s jaw and knocking him down on the floor. Gargan growled in rage as he realized that Spider-Man had been under his custody the whole time without his knowledge, and drew his gun from the back of his pants. Peter rolled away from the top of Eddie’s unconscious body and ducked behind one of the machinery at the exact same time Gargan pulled the trigger, missing him by a mere inch.

“Spider-Man!”, Gargan called in fury, shooting several times at the machine even though Peter was shielded by it. The boy flinched with each loud, metallic sound of the bullets hitting the steel, and tried to use what was left of his spider-sense to figure out where Gargan would come from – his left or his right. His best choice would be getting back to the girder, which was high above the ground and provided the most strategical protection to him. However, there was no possible way he could climb up the wall when Gargan was not only watching his every move attentively, but also had a gun pointed at him.

He needed to think quickly and make do with what he had, because he didn’t have his webshooters or his suit on him. This meant he would have to recur to the only abilities available to him on that moment – his physical strength and agility. Sensing Gargan was getting dangerously closer to him, trying to corner him through his left side, Peter rolled on the floor towards the opposite way Gargan was coming from, using the machine as cover as he rounded the corner. This game of cat and mouse wouldn’t last long, since Gargan had a gun and a hunger for revenge, and it was only a matter of time until he got fed up with Peter’s antics and recurred to drastic measures. Not wanting to give Gargan anymore reasons to want to kill him, Peter jumped over the machinery and took the Scorpion by surprise, kicking the gun off his hand and falling on the top of the man.

The impact upset Peter’s still bruised ribs and he groaned in pain, barely managing to dodge before Gargan retrieved one of his many knives and tried to jam it into the boy’s side. The Scorpion was clearly wasting no time trying to murder Peter, and Peter wasn’t about to waste any time trying to survive, either. He pushed the man away and got back to his feet, turning on his heels and darting towards the closest climbable wall.

There was a reason why Gargan was called The Scorpion. His reflexes were fast, and he didn’t let himself be shaken by Peter’s surprise attack. Even though the gun fell to the floor and slid several feet away from his grasp, Gargan dived after it as soon as Peter got back to his feet, and the boy barely had any time to climb the wall back towards the ceiling before the Scorpion was shooting at him again.

Peter took refuge behind one girder, but it soon became clear that this cover wouldn’t last long. Though the metal was doing a good job shielding away The Scorpion’s bullets, the girder wasn’t large enough to cover Peter’s body in its totality, leaving part of his arms and legs exposed. It was only a matter of time before Gargan’s precise aim resulted on Peter getting shot.

There was a commotion at the door caused by the rest of Toomes’ crew that, upon hearing the sound of the gunshots, had come upstairs to find out what was happening. Seeing them crowding the door and looking inside the room with fear and hesitation only served to increase Gargan’s rage, who stopped aiming his gun at Peter in order to turn it towards them.

“He’s _mine_ ”, he growled in a bestial way, as if wanting to make sure that no one but him would get to hurt or kill Spider-Man. None of the man understood what he meant.

“What the fuck is going on, man?”, one of the men asked, fearful.

“I think he killed Eddie!”, another pointed out, horrified.

“He’s gone batshit, man”, another said.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here, dude, this mission’s rigged!”, another suggested.

“Brooke said Stark’s coming”, another recalled.

“But what about Eddie?!”, another pleaded.

“Let’s go, man!”, another insisted. Most of the man blocking the doorway began to retreat, desperate to escape Gargan’s rage, but some of them lingered by the door, as if unsure whether they should step in and retrieve Eddie’s unconscious body.

“Yeah, y’all better run off while you still can!”, Gargan shouted at the door, a warning in his voice. “You!”, he pointed his gun at the closest man to him, who was standing halfway in, halfway out of the room. “Close the door”, Gargan ordered, gesturing with his gun as if to emphasize his words.

“W-What?”, the man asked, eyes widening.

“Get the hell out and close the fucking door!”, Gargan ordered, making the man jolt at the harsh tone. He did as he was told, pulling the door close until the lock clicked, leaving Gargan and Peter trapped with Eddie’s unconscious form inside the room. There was a small puddle of blood forming beneath Eddie, from where he had hit his head on the fall. “Let’s see how the little spider makes do when he’s trapped with the Scorpion”, Gargan added to himself, but in a loud enough tone for Peter to hear it. The boy swallowed dry.

Gargan’s gun ran out of bullets from the amount of attempts he made at shooting Peter, and he was forced to reload it, muttering curses under his breath while he did so. Peter didn’t know what to do. He knew he should take this opportunity to try and run away before the man started shooting at him again, but run where? The door was locked and he needed to stay where he was so that Mr. Stark could find him. His only option would be to fight for his life and pray that Tony got there fast, but he didn’t have his webs or the protection of his suit. All he had was two injured wrists, one aching torso and the vulnerability of having his identity revealed.

“ _The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the kitchen wall_ ”, Gargan began to sing under his breath while he resumed reloading his weapon. Peter decided that even if he couldn’t leave the factory, he could still try to get as far away as possible from this lunatic. Taking Gargan’s distraction with the gun, Peter moved, jumping off the girder he had previously taken cover at and landing at another one, farther away from the Scorpion.

He continued to hop from girder to girder, trying to make Gargan lose sight of him. If only Peter could turn off the lights of the room – then Gargan wouldn’t have eyes on him anymore, and Peter would be able to escape using the door. The other henchmen had probably fled or were on the process of cowering away – but even if they decided to fight Peter, they didn’t look like they would be too much trouble to him. Gargan, on the other hand, clearly hated Peter – _Spider-Man_ – with such intensity that he was risking getting captured by Stark only to get his revenge, rather than running away like he previously intended to.

“ _Swoosh! Went the fan_ ”, Gargan continued to sing, louder this time, as if he wanted Peter to hear it. He aimed his gun at the precise spot where Peter had been hiding and startled the boy, who had thought Gargan had lost track of him. Peter shut his lips to form a thin line and took a deep breath before hopping to another girder, heading towards the darkest corner of the room.

Being trapped with Gargan was the least ideal situation he could possibly think of. The man clearly wouldn’t stop until Peter was dead, and there was nowhere Peter could go. He needed to find a way to get the gun off Gargan’s hands – maybe then he would stand a chance against him.

“ _And made the spider_ …”, Gargan continued, raising his gun and keeping it closely aimed at Peter as the boy hopped from girder to girder, as if murderously waiting for the right opportunity to pull the trigger. Peter couldn’t stop moving now. If he stopped, he was sure Gargan would hit bullseye. His ribs were protesting and his tired limbs were aching from the exertion, but he couldn’t stop, he had to keep moving, he had to keep jumping – ! “… _fall_ ”.

Gargan pulled the trigger. The only reason the bullet didn’t lodge itself right into Peter’s stomach was due to a miracle, but it still grazed against his skin and made him lose balance. Maybe it was the tiredness or the hunger that made Peter miscalculate his movements, that made him nearly get _shot_ , but it didn’t matter – his hands failed to grab the girder right in front of him and he freefell, colliding harshly with the floor beneath him – and in a completely wrong angle.

The burning graze the bullet left on his skin was nothing – absolutely _nothing_ – compared to the pain that burst on his left leg as soon as Peter’s whole weight fell on it. The boy didn’t need to hear the sickening crack of his fibula snapping to know it was broken, because the pain – the pain was all-consuming, and the pain was so utterly intense that he thought he blacked out for a moment, his vision going white.

When he regained his senses, there was a person screaming. It took Peter longer than it should have to realize this person was him.

Gargan was standing tall above him, a pleased smirk on his face and a gun pointed at Peter’s head. He looked extremely eager to pull the trigger at once and complete his revenge, but one single look at Peter showed him that the boy wasn’t in any condition to try to escape – or put up a fight – again. There were fresh tears running down Peter’s cheeks and temples as he screamed and sobbed uselessly, desperately trying to clutch his broken leg but failing to move it closer to his body. The pain was so hot and intense that he barely even noticed Gargan was talking to him.

“This ain’t nothing more than you deserve”, the man was saying, that sickening grin of his making Peter feel sick. He ignored Gargan, managing to support his weight on an elbow and take a look at the broken leg. This time, Peter couldn’t help but to gag, but there was nothing in his stomach to come up. The bone had broken through the skin and his jeans in one of the most horrid compound fractures he had ever seen in his life. Gargan chuckled at his distress. “You should have minded your damn business back at that ferry, Spider-Boy. This shit over here”, Gargan used his gun to point at the scar covering half of his face. “This is your fault. And I sworn on everything I believe in that I would get my revenge on you for doing this to me”, he took a step closer to Peter, going back to pointing his gun at him.

Peter helplessly tried to crawl away, dragging himself pitifully across the floor. There were groans and moans escaping his lips as he went, his injured leg dragging painfully behind him, tears and snot covering his flushed face. Gargan chuckled again and grabbed Peter by his hair, yanking the boy’s head back with more strength than necessary and keeping him in place.

“Nah”, Gargan shook his head, crouching beside Peter and saying the words into his ear. Shivers of repulse ran across Peter’s back and his hands instinctively shot to grab Gargan’s, trying to release the tight grasp on his hair. This only served to make the Scorpion pull at Peter’s hair with more strength. “You don’t get to run away after all the shit you pulled. You don’t get to _run away_ after playing me like a damn fool – you thought you were so _smart_ , didn’t you?”, he mocked. Peter stared straight ahead, breathing heavily through his nose and trying his best not to cry out as he struggled to control the pain. “Talking back to me like that, acting all snide like the spoiled brat you are. I should have known”, he scoffed. “I should have fucking known that Stark’s son was the damn spiderling that sent me to jail. I was so damn stupid”, he abruptly let go of Peter’s head, making the boy lose balance and fall back on the floor.

Peter watched through tear-filled eyes as Gargan got back to his feet and stood tall above him again, scratching at the back of his neck with a pensive face. The open door of the freezer was standing heavy right beside him. If only Peter managed to use his good leg and kick it, he might hit Gargan hard enough to knock off his balance and possibly disarm him. He tried to move again, dragging himself on the floor so that he would be closer to the freezer door. Gargan smiled, pointing the gun at Peter and unaware of the boy’s plan.

“You know what?”, he continued, self-absorbed. “You caused me way too much trouble. Just killing you won’t be enough”, he nodded to himself. “I want you to say you’re sorry”.

“W-What?”, Peter asked, hating how his voice sounded hoarse and constricted from all the screaming and the pain. He positioned himself in front of the door in order to kick it, but tried his best to pretend it was the shock caused by Gargan’s words that made him stop crawling.

“You heard me”, Gargan scoffed, taking a step closer to Peter. Closer to the door. “I want you to say you’re sorry. For getting me arrested. For putting this shit on my face”, he pointed at the scar again. “I want you to fucking _beg_ for my forgiveness, beg me to spare your life. C’mon”, he urged. Peter continued to breathe heavily, glaring at the man above him. Gargan raised an eyebrow at Peter’s silence.

 _Here goes nothing,_ Peter thought.

He kicked the door with all the strength he could muster and using his good leg. Just as he had predicted, it collided with Gargan and made the man fall on his back, the gun knocked out of his grasp. Before he could recover, Peter threw himself at him, screaming as the movement disrupted his broken leg and managing to punch Gargan in the face.

His triumph, however, didn’t last too long. Having a compound fracture on his leg was something that definitely made the fight unbalanced, and soon enough Gargan recovered from the punch and got back to his feet, dragging Peter up with him. It took all of Peter’s concentration to keep his injured leg on the air rather than putting weight on it, because if he did dare to use the broken limb as support, he was sure he would die – if not from the pain, then by Gargan’s hands. Gargan smiled wickedly before punching Peter square in the nose, making the boy lose balance and fall back to the floor, inside the freezer.

“You think you’re so brave, right, boy?”, Gargan asked, voice loud and menacing. Peter went back to crawling, trying to put as much distance between Gargan and himself as he could, even if it meant getting further and further into the cold freezer. “You think you’re smart?”, Gargan continued, chasing after Peter slowly, like a predator who was sure its pray was already doomed. “You think you can beat me without your special suit? Without your daddy’s _help_?”, he chuckled. Peter reached the end of the freezer, his back contacting with the frozen surface of the wall behind him. There was a heavy, metal shelf beside him. “Nah. You ain’t _shit_ , Spider-Man. It was about time someone taught you that. I’m just really glad that someone turned out to be _me_ ”, he smiled. Since his gun was still outside the freezer, Gargan fished out a knife off his hip holster, approaching Peter. “Imma make it look pretty for when Stark comes get you”, he promised.

The thought of Tony finding his dead, mutilated body inside an industrial freezer made Peter’s stomach churn. He couldn’t let Gargan kill him, not like that. Tony would never, _ever_ forgive himself if Peter died because he was mistaken for his son. And May – god, he didn’t even want to imagine what May’s reaction would be. His aunt had already lost so much – she couldn’t lose Peter, too. It wasn’t _fair_. And Tony – Tony had already lost his fair share, either. The thought of the billionaire doing something as ludicrous as _crying_ over his dead body was what finally settled his resolve.

“You ready to beg for your life?”, Gargan raised an eyebrow at him, taking another step closer. Peter bit his inner cheek and took a deep breath, trying to ignore the terrible pain in his leg as he grabbed the shelf beside him. He only had one chance. Gargan probably thought Peter was looking for support to stand up. Peter tightened his grasp on the heavy metal shelf, exhaled, and said in the steadiest voice he could muster:

“Not today, man, but thanks for offering”.

Then he used what was left of his super-strength to yank the shelf off the freezer wall, dropping it heavily on the top of Gargan.

The shelf was made of solid metal and used to keep frozen meat, which meant it must weigh at least 440 pounds, if Peter’s assessment was correct. Gargan hit his head hard on the floor as the heavy weigh collapsed on the top of him and pinned him down. The man was lying unconscious beneath the shelf, eyes closed and knife slack on his limp grasp. For safe measure, Peter grabbed the knife and launched it away to the opposite side of the freezer, in case Gargan woke up and managed to free himself. Peter wouldn't doubt Gargan's ability to crawl from underneath a 440-pound industrial shelf out of his sheer will to kill him. Letting out a relieved sigh, the boy leaned his weight against the wall for a moment, just relishing on his small victory, before trying to get back to his feet – or rather, foot –, the cold surface of the freezer serving as support for him to limp his way to the door.

Peter's face fell in horrified realization as he noticed the freezer door had closed at some point during his fight with Gargan, locking them in.

“No, no, no, no, no”, Peter muttered to himself as he limped painfully towards the closed exit, rounding the fallen shelf that was pinning Gargan to the floor and trying to reach the closed door as fast as he could, given his condition. He tried to pull it and push it, but the structure refused to give in. He tried to force the lock, but it refused to open. He tried to punch a hole through the metal, but the material was thick and he couldn’t quite find a way to try and force the door open without having to put weight on his injured leg – which wasn’t exactly something he could quite bring himself to do, even if he wanted to. “No!”, Peter shouted in frustration, giving the door one final, meaningless punch.

He slid back into a sitting position on the cold floor of the freezer, already feeling chilly and shivery. He was locked inside with an unconscious Gargan, a compound-fractured leg and no means to escape. He knew that, should he successfully reset the bone into its proper place, his body would be able to heal it in no time. But Peter was no trained professional, and he wasn’t entirely sure he would be able to endure the pain of resetting his own bone, let alone do it properly. If he misaligned the fibula and his body healed it wrong, he might end up bearing a limp for the rest of his life – or worse, he could be forced to break his leg again for it to heal properly.

His sole chance of survival depended entirely on Tony finding him, and finding him _fast_. Peter wasn’t sure what was the temperature inside the freezer, but it was definitely below 0º F. He was already shivering and shaking, trying to double over himself and shoving his hands beneath his armpits in a meek attempt to preserve warmth. He tried to remember what one was supposed to do to prevent going hypothermic, but he didn’t exactly have more than his shirt and his pants to provide him warmth, and as much as he wanted to move or walk around in order not to freeze to death, he couldn’t – his injured leg was far from functional.

Peter tried to keep as little contact with the cold surfaces inside the freezer as he could, hugging himself and rubbing his hands on his arms to create friction. He wanted nothing more than to lie in fetal position and hug his knees to his chest, but his fractured leg was stiff and refusing to move, the pain it irradiated through Peter’s body becoming almost unbearable. Deep inside the freezer, Gargan remained unconscious, crushed beneath the heavy shelf pinning him to the floor.

“C’mon, Tony”, Peter breathed out with a shaky voice, lower lip quivering and whole body shivering from the unrelenting cold. His vision was going blurry now that the adrenaline of survival was wearing off his system, and the pain in his leg was so absolutely strong and unbearable that the unawareness provided by sleep seemed like the greatest treasure Peter could ever get. But he knew he couldn’t afford to fall asleep. If he fell asleep, chances were he would freeze to death and never wake up. And he couldn’t do that to May, _or_ to Tony.

All he could do was wait. He needed to stay awake, and wait, and try to do whatever he could to preserve warmth. Tony was coming for him. Tony was coming to get him. Tony would take him home, and call him squirt, and ruffle his hair, and fix his leg, and take him to May, and everything would be ok again. He couldn’t wait to see Tony. Tony could fix this. He was good at fixing things, right? So he could fix this and make Peter ok again. Peter trusted him with his life. Peter… Peter loved him. Like he loved Aunt May and Uncle Ben. Yeah, maybe he should finally tell Tony that, except it would be embarrassing. Maybe he _was_ getting hypothermic after all. The thoughts inside his head were confusing, mixed up and Peter could no longer tell where one thought began and the other ended. Everything felt kind of pointless, except for his deep, unrelenting conviction that Tony would come for him and make everything ok.

It took about two hours for Tony to arrive at Peter’s location. Despite of his best efforts, Peter couldn’t quite bring himself to stay awake for that long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, I don't know what to say. Hope this wasn't too disappointing? I know a lot of you wanted to see a Gargan-Peter hand-to-hand combat, but Pete's still injured and he's spent three days without food. I tried to be as verossimile as I could?  
> Also, I feel like the pace of this chapter is really rushed, which was exactly the feeling I wanted to convey. Remember Tony was two hours away from Peter's location, even with the suit, and everything that happened in this chapter was probably over the course of fifteen-twenty minutes. It was fast and I wanted it to feel fast! I hope it didn't turn out too rushed or something like that.  
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! Let me know what you guys thought about this chapter. I'm really not sure about it - to me, it feels like it's either very nice or terrible to read. I'll leave that decision up to you guys.  
> Thanks for all of you who read and commented, you mean the world to me!


	7. Chapter 7

When Tony arrived at the factory, it was deserted.

There were signs of former life all around the place; forgotten backpacks and empty bags of chips coloring the desks and tables of what Tony reckoned to be the surveillance room. One of the Chitauri frequency-altering devices was lying abandoned right beside a dusty computer, as if left behind in its owner's hurry to get away. The presence of the device, however, made Tony frown in confusion. If Gargan and his men had moved Peter to another location, why leave behind the very device that could aid Tony in tracking the boy down?

Tony didn't dare to step out of his Iron Man suit, in case he was to encounter any possible adversary in his search for Peter. Instead, he ran his gauntleted fingers across the dusty surface of the desk, grabbing the Chitauri device and analyzing it closely as if to make sure it wasn't a faux. Tony wasn’t a huge fan or expert in Chitauri tech – for a very good reason that he didn’t enjoy thinking about –, but he had grown acquainted enough with the device when he had been tracking Peter down to be able to tell if this one was a fake or not. He was a genius, after all, and getting acquainted with technology in less than a day was like breathing for him.

 After a few seconds of meticulous analysis, Tony reached the conclusion that this was, indeed, a fully operational Chitauri frequency alterer that the crooks had left behind for whatever reason. Or maybe, he concluded, they hadn’t left it behind at all. Maybe they were still at the factory, hiding away somewhere, trying to come up with a way to ambush Tony. Maybe they were  _that_  dumb. Tony decided that he was better safe than sorry, and took a hand to the com in his ear.

"Friday”, he called in a firm voice, placing the Chitauri device back at the dusty table. “Run a scan on the factory. Let me know if there's still someone around", he instructed. There was something weird about this whole scenario, and he had a gut feeling that Peter was still lingering around somewhere, just waiting for Tony to find him. His gut feelings rarely failed him, but even though Tony trusted himself, he was still afraid that this was simply the hope that he would find Peter speaking louder than his reason. He needed to make sure that this wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him. He needed empiric proof.

"Running scan", Friday replied, ready as always to comply. Tony knew that scanning the whole perimeter of the factory – which was huge – for life forms would take a while, so he decided to work with what he could in the meantime.

"Where are you, Pete?", he whispered to himself, bending over in order to turn the computer monitor in front of him on and watching the screen with close attention.

The surveillance room was the first place in the abandoned factory that provided Tony with useful information. As soon as he landed at the location, after flying in his suit at top speed for almost two whole hours, he was met with nothing other than empty, deserted rooms covered in dust and webs. The surveillance room, which was located deep into the first floor of the factory and right in front of the metallic stairs that lead upstairs, was the first place Tony encountered which was equipped with any furniture or technology at all. This indicated that Gargan’s crew of henchmen couldn’t be too big – the factory was huge, yes, but these men had barely occupied any of the rooms. They had been around the place for three days and there were barely any signs of life there, with the sole exception of the surveillance room. The Scorpion had probably opted to work with a small number of people, probably not wanting the rumor of Peter being Tony’s son to leak.

Tony noticed there were several scratch marks on the old desk supporting the computer, as if someone had ran a knife on the wooden surface several times over. He swallowed dry as he imagined Gargan, sitting right in front of that monitor, watching a restrained Peter through the screen and running his knife across the table. Tony's nose wrinkled in anger without him consciously realizing it.

He leaned forwards toward the desk in order to take a better look at the monitor and see if he could find anyone else around the factory while Friday finished running the scan. The screen showed several different rooms around the factory, all deserted and empty. Like the previous rooms Tony had passed by, most of the ones being recorded were vacant of any furniture, but a couple others contained a few basic chairs and small tables that were probably used by Gargan's henchmen to spend time whenever they weren't watching Peter. Another two rooms, Tony soon found, contained three scattered mattresses on the floor and a couple of thin bedframes, probably brought in and installed by the henchmen themselves. This confirmed Tony’s initial theory that they were a small group – which meant it would be easier to capture them all at the same time.

However, what called Tony's attention the most – what made his breath finally catch in his constricted throat – was the surveillance feed right at the bottom corner of the monitor. A sparkle of recognition appeared at the back of his mind when he ran his eyes through the image, so he clicked it to make the feed go full-screen. Just as he feared, his suspicion was confirmed: that was the room from which the henchmen had sent Tony the pictures of a beaten-up Peter tied to a chair. That was the room where they had kept the kid hostage.

The chair in which Peter had been seating when the pictures were taken was lying askew on the floor, as if someone had thrown it in a fit of rage. The dark, brownish blotches staining the floor right in front of the fallen chair looked conspicuously like dried, coagulated blood, which made Tony's stomach churn and his nostrils flare in rage. However, what almost made him put what was left of his honor aside and finally spill the contents of his stomach all over the floor was the  _body_.

It really shouldn't have taken him that long to see the damn  _body_  lying on the floor.

The body was clearly not Peter's, but Tony's blood still froze in his veins in the split moment it took for him to realize that. It felt almost as if his mind was playing tricks on him, because for a moment, all he could see was Peter lying dead and bloodied on the floor; unnaturally still and pale whereas he should be lively and cheerful. The hairs of Tony's arms stood up and his heart leaped painfully inside his chest during the second he thought that was  _his boy_  on the floor, dead and left behind by the kidnappers as if he was nothing. Thankfully, one more attentive look showed Tony that there was no way the person splayed on the floor was Peter. Whereas the boy was brunette, the body was blonde, and whereas the boy was short and young, the body was overly broad and in its mid-thirties. Tony sighed in relief that it wasn't the kid on the floor, but the sensation didn't last for long.

If the factory was actually deserted, then everything about its state indicated that it had been evacuated in a hurry, as if they had figured out that Tony was coming (exactly as the billionaire had suspected would happen) and decided to flee before he could get there. There was one crucial detail, however, that didn't exactly add up in this whole scenario - if these men had truly fled and taken Peter with them, why leave the Chitauri tracker behind, when they knew Tony was on his way? Why leave everything they seemed to own behind, actually? Why leave an actual  _body_ behind? What, exactly, had gone down in the two hours it took for Tony to get there?

“How is it going, Fri?”, Tony asked his A.I., eager for answers. As much as he knew that scanning wasn’t something Friday could do as fast as he wanted her to, he also knew he couldn’t waste too much time standing around and doing nothing. If those men had actually ran away, Tony would have to follow them before they could disappear with Peter again. He entered a race against time as soon as he decided to track Gargan down with Mason’s Chitauri tech.

“Still in progress, boss”, Friday said, concentrated. “The scan of the first floor is complete. No human life forms found. Moving to the second floor now”, she supplied.

“I’m gonna give you a little hand”, Tony announced, turning on his heels and exiting the surveillance room. He figured he needed to do something to gain time while Friday finished the scan. From what he could see through the cameras, there was no one around the factory other than the body, so he didn’t exactly expect to be jumped at by hidden criminals out of the blue. Still, if that happened, he would be able to deal with them, especially given the suit he was wearing. What he couldn’t bear was just standing at the dusty surveillance room doing nothing while Peter could be getting farther and farther away from him with each second he wasted.

Tony couldn't really see Peter through any of the cameras, so it was very unlikely that the boy was still at the factory, despite of Tony's hopes and his vehement request for him not to go anywhere. Tony knew it wasn’t exactly up to Peter to choose if he stayed or went away with the criminals, especially if his aunt’s life was on the line, but he had expected the boy to at least struggle or stall for time. That tiny, hopeful part of Tony’s mind tried to convince him that Peter could have found a way to escape his bindings and was currently hiding somewhere with no cameras to watch him, which was why Tony needed his A.I. to finish  _the damn long scan_  already.

If Peter was still at the factory, Tony needed to find him. If Peter had been taken away by a band of kidnappers who were amateur enough to leave their most valuable tech behind, then Tony needed to pursue them before they became untraceable again. If they had truly escaped with Peter, they couldn't be too far off - not when the factory was remotely placed miles and miles away from any other possible hiding spot. It had taken Tony two hours to get there, using his fastest suit. There was no  _way_  the crooks could have escaped anywhere by car in less time. The memory of the wire wrapped around Peter's wrists and ankles made a jolt of pain course through Tony's heart, but also served to fill him with determination. He needed to find the kid.

Just as Tony reached the upper stairs and entered the room where the body lay splayed on the floor, ready to search for whatever clue could aid him in finding Peter, Friday resumed her scanning.

"Boss", the A.I. called, tone as grim and somber as an artificial intelligence could muster. One of the things Tony liked the most about his A.I. was that she rarely tried to sugarcoat him – which, curiously, didn't seem to be the case now. Friday's ominous tone of voice sent Tony's heart into a frenzy inside his chest, and this couldn't possibly be healthy, given the spikes he had already put the poor thing through in the past couple of days.

"Go ahead, sweetheart", Tony instructed, doing his best to hide his fear behind a layer of fake confidence, as it was his modus operandi . He didn't even notice he was standing, frozen mid-step, in the middle of the room, shoulders tense and ears awaiting for Friday's response with sharp attention, body unable to convey any other function until the A.I. told him what she had found.

"I'm picking up two life forms inside the premises of the factory", the AI said, voice quiet and sounding almost cautious. "One of them is the man in the room with you", she continued, slowly. As if giving time for him to brace himself for what was to come next. Tony managed to turn his head to look at the fallen, bleeding man, swallowing dry. He looked pale, the deep gash on his forehead leaking blood all over the floor.

"And the other...?", Tony urged when Friday didn’t continue, barely managing to keep the dread from his voice. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the sickeningly crimson blood spilled on the floor beside the man’s head, barely breathing as he waited for a response. It felt like there were hands around his lungs, squeezing the air out of him and preventing any oxygen from getting in.

"The other is awfully weak", Friday added after a couple of painfully silent seconds, her tone almost apologetic. "And it's coming from inside the freezer to your left".

Tony slowly, carefully turned his head to look at where Friday had indicated, spotting a large industrial freezer at the farthest corner of the room. The freezer seemed to be around 30 feet long, extending for a very good portion of the wall behind it, and its door was closed, apparently locked from the outside. Tony thought he could see fist-shaped dents at the surface of the metal, coming from inside, as if someone with superhuman strength had tried to punch their way out of the closed freezer.

As if  _Peter_  had tried to punch his way out of the closed freezer.

Tony had no idea what happened in the following seconds - his mind went totally blank. He couldn't recall stepping out - or rather, throwing himself out - of the Iron Man suit, or jogging halfway across the factory in order to get to the freezer, the breath coming out of his lungs through heavy, wet gasps. The only thing he recalled doing once Friday's words registered in his panicked brain was desperately trying to unlock the heavy door of the freezer and yanking it open without even thinking about the effort it demanded. Because Peter's vitals were weak. Because Peter had been stuck in the goddamn freezer for  _two whole hours_.

A thick, cold fog spread around Tony's feet as soon as the door opened, making a shiver of anticipation run down his spine. He hadn’t even stepped into the freezer yet and he could already feel the utter  _cold_  seeping from inside it. Swallowing dry and mustering courage, Tony took a step inside and huffed out a shaky breath, trembling all over. The inside of the freezer was extremely dark and the only source of light illuminating it came from the factory room outside it. He knew it wouldn’t be easy to find Peter in that dim lighting, given the fact that he was freezing already from the cold and that the freezer was very long, but thankfully, he didn’t have to waste too much time on his search. Peter was right beside the freezer door, and Tony was sure his heart gave out for a second at the sight of his kid.

Peter was sitting very still, back leaning on the frozen wall behind him and chin glued to his chest, head lolled limply forwards. His eyes were closed and his bluish lips were slightly parted. If it hadn’t been for the deathly pallor of his face, Tony would have thought Peter was taking a power nap – it wasn’t unusual for Tony to find the boy sitting exactly like that after a long day of studying at the workshop. However, Peter wasn’t looking young and lively as he usually did whenever he was around Tony at the SI – he was looking half-dead. There was half-frozen, half-dried blood coating his upper lip and his nostrils, the bridge of his nose bruised and slightly crooked as if broken. The bruises coloring one of his eyes and his cheekbone was fading, almost fully healed, but the purplish-greenish hue was still painting the boy’s face in a sick contrast with the pallor of his skin. Apart from the bruises and the blood, Peter was as white as a sheet, and, to Tony’s horror, he was no longer shivering. This set off all sorts of red alerts inside the billionaire’s brain.

Tony could tell Peter had cleverly attempted to maintain his body temperature by tucking his arms into his shirt through the sleeve holes, and one of his legs was pulled closely to his chest as if the boy had made a half-attempted to curl into a ball to preserve warmth. Peter’s other leg, however, was stretched stiffly in front of his body, the angle unnatural and askew. Tony paid no attention to the limb – it was dark inside the freezer, and his first priority was getting his kid the hell out of that place before it was too late. Two hours had already been enough in the freezing cold.

"You're ok", Tony said, speaking up for the first time since he first spotted Peter sitting on the freezer floor. His voice sounded alien to his own ears, as if it was someone else speaking. He crouched down beside Peter’s cold form and took his hands to his shoulders, trying to figure out the best way to move him out of the freezer without disrupting or hurting him further. Peter’s skin was freezing to the touch, and Tony swallowed past the lump in his throat as his hand contacted with the kid’s marble-like shoulder. "You're ok. You're alright", Tony continued, sounding like he was reassuring himself, rather than Peter.

Because he needed to  _believe_  Peter was alright. Because Peter  _needed_  to be alright, and there was no way in hell Tony would accept any other outcome.

“Come on, Pete”, Tony groaned, wrapping his arms around Peter's torso as gently as he could and dragging the boy towards the door of the freezer. Peter wasn’t exactly light – god knew Tony always struggled to carry the boy to the workshop’s couch whenever he fell asleep at the table, after an afternoon of studying –, but his body didn’t feel as heavy as it usually was. The way his ribs and spine seemed to be protruding from his skin as Tony carried him out only served to send a whole new wave of red alerts through the billionaire’s already panicking brain. He wouldn’t doubt that Gargan had spent these three past days without giving Peter anything to eat.

Tony successfully dragged Peter’s inert, stiff body as far as possible from the freezer, lying him down on the floor as gently as he could and placing two fingers on the boy’s carotid. Just as Friday had said, his pulse was slow and erratic, too weak for Tony’s liking. The fact that Peter wasn’t shivering after spending so long in the freezing cold meant that he was already severely hypothermic, which also meant that Tony needed to warm the kid up and get him help immediately before his heart gave out. He touched a shaking hand to the com in his ear at the same time he rubbed his other hand across Peter's tucked arms as fast as he could, hoping the friction would serve to warm the boy up, if only a bit.

"Send in a med team", Tony instructed, voice hoarse and so clearly anxious that it made him feel even sicker. He felt disconnected from his own body, as if nothing else mattered in the world other than ensuring Peter’s survival. "Give them a helicopter, a jet, whatever it takes. Just get them here.  _Now_ ", he barked, voice half-cracking. Peter remained unresponsive beneath his grasp, body stiff and cold like a corpse.

Tony removed his own jacket in a hurried gesture and wrapped it around Peter's torso, tucking it closely to his skin as if to ensure that what was left of Peter’s body heat wouldn’t sip off. Usually, his Iron Man suits had heaters inside them, but even though Tony didn’t know much about aiding a hypothermic, even  _he_  knew that a drastic increase of body temperature always did more harm than good. He needed to warm Peter up slowly and carefully, lest the boy’s situation worsen. Besides, the suit Tony had taken to the factory was one of the few that still didn’t have a heater in them – he had prioritized speed over comfort.

 He pulled Peter from the floor to his chest, half-hugging, half-holding him in a protective, father-like manner. The best solution Tony had for warming Peter up until medical help arrived was sharing body heat and rubbing his arms so that the friction slowly warmed him up. He couldn’t exactly fly Peter back into the city, either – the boy was suffering from severe hypothermia and flying him on the Iron Man suit, in the chilly, windy air, would probably worsen his condition.

 Tony never ceased to rub Peter's shoulders and arms, even through the fabric of the shirt and the jacket, trying to make the friction stir some life into the kid’s limp body. Peter, however, remained unresponsive to Tony’s ministrations, and Tony’s constant moving of his arms and shoulders made his head loll limply to the side, freezing cheek resting heavily against the crook of Tony’s neck. Tony tightened his grip on Peter's arms protectively, focusing on protecting the unconscious boy.

"Boss, a med team would take –", Friday tried to point out, apologetic, but Tony interrupted her nervously before she could continue.

"I don't  _care_!", he snapped, voice breaking. He sounded more desperate than angry, holding Peter close to his chest as if afraid that, if he let go of the boy, he would fall apart like broken porcelain. If the fear and panic weren’t evident in Tony’s voice, they were painted clearly all over his scrunched up face. "He's  _dying_ , Jarvis! Just get them here! Use a suit if you need to, I don't give a shit; just  _find a way_. I can't take Peter on the air, or it could make the hypothermia worse", he pointed out.

There was a moment of silence in which Tony did nothing other than breathe heavily as he continued to rub Peter's arms in a desperate manner, cradling the boy protectively to his chest. It felt like an eternity before Friday spoke again.

"I am dispatching a helicopter for Doctor Cho and her medical team", the A.I. announced, obedient. "And it's Friday, boss. Not Jarvis", she added in a small voice, sounding almost concerned.

This wasn't the first time Tony had slipped and called Friday – or any of his most recent A.I.s, really –  _Jarvis_. Usually, when Tony was under a lot of stress and, more often than not, during his panic attacks, he would recur to calling out for his former A.I. without consciously realizing it. The true was that Jarvis had been such a traditional, ever-constant presence in Tony's life from such an early age that not having him around anymore was something the billionaire still struggled to accept, especially in the moments when he hit rock bottom. Holding a half-dead Peter in his arms was something that Tony would  _definitely_  define as the most rock bottom he could hit, especially because that this was  _all his fault_. It was only natural that, in this moment of desperation, he called after someone who had been there for him so often when he needed. Old habits die hard.

"Yeah, I know", he said, nodding his head and swallowing dry. He could feel the growing embarrassment smothering his chest further and instinctively tightened his grip on Peter. He needed to stay calm. He needed to stay rational. He couldn’t afford to lose his cool in such a crucial moment; he couldn’t afford to lose control while Peter still needed him. He would have to save his freak out for later. He took a deep, shaky breath in an attempt to ease down his anxiety. "Sorry, Fri. Just - Just get them here, ok?", he added, trying to sound more gentle. The softness in his tone only served to make his voice crack.

"Working on it", the A.I. responded simply.

"Hold on, Pete", Tony whispered, arms becoming stiff from the incessant frequency with which he was rubbing Peter's shoulders. He tried to adjust the boy the best he could so that he wasn't lying in a too weird of an angle, keeping him close and as comfortable as he possibly could, given their current situation.

Tony would have laughed, if this had been any other time. He could clearly remember the day when Peter tried to give him a hug in the car, right after they returned from Germany, and Tony had told him they weren’t quite there yet. He wished Peter was awake to see this, now: Tony hugging him, holding him close, cradling him like… Like a father would do to a child. The thought made Tony’s heart tighten.

"I've got you", Tony continued to say reassuringly, even though he wasn't sure Peter could hear him. "You're going to be fine. You’ll be back to webbing around and causing me ungodly amounts of stress in no time; you’ll see", he swallowed dry. He could only hope his words wouldn't turn out to be a lie. Peter continued to lie unconscious in his grasp, limp as a rag doll. “I should have known all those times I told you to talk less would come back to bite me”, he scoffed, a hint of self-deprecation in his tone. “I wish you’d just start rambling at me already, kid, because all this silence coming from you is really scaring me”, he admitted, feeling vulnerable and emotional.

Stark men were made of iron, but right on that moment, Tony’s façade was crumbling apart. He always put an especial effort on not appearing vulnerable or emotional to others, because that was the way Howard had taught him, but seeing Peter like this – half-frozen, half-dead, looking pale and limp in his arms – was doing things to his heart. Things that Tony never thought he could feel. Things that Tony always put an especial effort on  _not feeling_ , even though he failed more often than not.

"Boss", Friday called out after a few moments, sounding solemn. "Colonel Rhodes wants you to know that he's fifteen minutes out".

"Tell him to get here already", Tony ordered, voice shaking. He knew that his request wouldn’t do much - Rhodes was probably flying on the top speed of his suit already - but he just needed his friend to arrive. He could definitely do with Rhodes' help – the man had excellent military training and he was probably better than Tony at the whole aiding-a-hypothermic thing –, and, if Tony was being honest with himself, Rhodes was probably one of the only people who could actually calm him down during his moments of crisis.

Tony was usually very good at keeping a levelled head and a rational mind during moments of crisis – but that was when the world was in danger. That was when people were under risk of dying, that was when super-villains were wreaking havoc in the city. That was when Tony had the possibility of laying down his life in order to save everyone from destruction. Right on this moment, there was nothing he could do – he had no option, no way to choose, no way to sacrifice himself. Because Peter was dying in his arms, and there was no way Tony could give his life to save the boy’s. He was completely, utterly helpless, and nothing scared him more than that. Even back in Afghanistan he hadn’t been so helpless. He had been able to do something, build something, use his brain and his talent for something. Now, there was little more he could do other than hold Peter close to share body heat and wait for the medical team to arrive.

He continued to cradle Peter to his chest and rub his arms, feeling a wave of anticipation and relief flood his chest when the boy seemed to shiver a bit at the contact. The movement was almost imperceptible and so fast that Tony couldn’t really tell if he had imagined it or not. He had no idea if what he was doing was actually helping Peter, but he couldn't bring himself to stop.

“Come on, Pete”, Tony said reassuringly, hoping that talking to Peter would aid the boy in returning to consciousness. Like this, unconscious and pale, Peter looked more dead than alive. Tony wanted nothing more than to see the boy’s eyes blink open, full of life and curiosity as they always seemed to dart around, especially when he was at the workshop. Tony barely noticed the tears of fear and grief that were pooling in his eyes – a mere physiological reflex, he told himself, to the moments of stress he was going through – as he pulled the boy closer to his chest, hating the way Peter’s body just rolled limply and lifelessly whenever he moved it. He needed Peter to wake up. He needed Peter to be  _fine_.

Pulling Peter closer, however, finally brought Tony’s attention to something that he had been unconsciously ignoring ever since he first found the boy inside the freezer. It was only when he finally adjusted Peter into what he assumed to be the most comfortable position possible for the boy that he noticed the  _leg_.

Tony had been so frightened by the possibility of Peter dying of hypothermia that he didn’t even spare a second glance at the boy’s limb until this moment. And the sight – the sight was nothing more than  _horrifying_.

"Oh my  _fucking_  – oh my – oh my  _god –_ ", he whispered in horror, unable to help himself as he started gagging at the sight of Peter’s broken bone protruding from the skin.

He turned his head away from Peter, who was snuggled against his chest, in order not to puke all over the kid. Because  _Jesus Christ, his leg_. His leg was not only broken and askew – which explained the weird angle Tony noticed when he first found him –, but Tony could see the bone sticking out through the puffy skin of Peter's shin in one of the most gruesome wounds he had ever seen in his life. A sense of deep rage and thirst for justice erupted inside his chest to mix with his nausea, because he was sure, absolutely  _sure_  that he would kill the people who did that to his kid. He didn't care if that would turn him into a murderer – he already had his fair share of red on his bill and he would be damned if he let Gargan and his crew get away with  _torturing_ Peter.

The thought of Peter having to endure the terrible pain of suffering a compound fracture, the thought of Peter screaming and sobbing as his leg snapped, the thought of Peter  _suffering_  – it all made Tony find it difficult to breathe and, most importantly, to calm down. He was on the brink of completely losing his shit, which he couldn't exactly afford, because right on that moment Peter needed help – Peter needed  _him_ , more than ever–  and Tony would be damned if he put his own needs in front of the boy's. He needed to stay strong for Peter. He could allow himself to have a full-on mental breakdown once the kid was in the hands of the best capacitated professionals Tony's money could afford.

Gently laying Peter down on the floor once more and hating the way Peter’s head lolled to the side at the absence of a shoulder to support it, Tony carefully crawled his way towards the boy’s leg as if to analyze it properly, hands hovering above the ghastly wound without ever touching it, afraid to injure Peter further. Tony hated the way his hands trembled violently above Peter’s leg, closing them into fists and re-opening them several times over to try and make them more steady.

“F-Friday, run a – run a – Jesus Christ, I can’t  _do_  this”, he panted, finding it difficult to catch his breath. He was on the brink of hyperventilation, even though he knew he couldn’t afford a panic attack. He needed to stay strong and focused for Peter. Swallowing dry, he sucked in a deep lungful of air and did his best  _not to look at the fucking bone sticking out of Peter’s leg_. “F-Find what else is wrong with him”, Tony said past the lump in his throat, panting. “What can I do about his leg?”

“Ideal treatment would involve having a medical professional reset the bone into its proper position before the blood flow to the foot is permanently cut off”, Friday said promptly. “Peter also has five bruised ribs, one broken nose and severe lacerations around his wrists. A more thorough diagnosis can only be made by connecting Peter to a proper biometrical scan”, she explained.

Tony sniffed and gasped desperately as he raised Peter’s shirt with a trembling hand, finding the boy’s arms tucked beneath the fabric and coated in dried, frozen blood. The cuts around his wrists looked painful and gory, and even if Tony didn’t think they would leave scars, thanks to Peter’s super-healing abilities, they would still take a while to heal completely. A newfound wave of fury coursed through Tony’s heart as he found new signs of the abuse his kid had endured. Once he got his hands on Gargan, he would be a dead man.

“Right”, Tony breathed out, trying to control his rushed thoughts and think.  _You can’t lose it. Stay strong for Peter. Stark men are made of iron._ “Right. First things first. The – the leg. What can I do about the leg? I don’t know how to reset the bone, and I don’t want to do it wrong”, he admitted, lowering Peter’s shirt to cover his arms and torso again and ignoring the boy’s minor wounds. He tucked the jacket around Peter’s torso more carefully, as if wanting to make up for the boy’s newfound wounds. If he had heard Friday correctly, there was a chance Peter’s foot could become necrotic, if it went too long without receiving blood, so this had to be Tony’s first priority alongside the hypothermia.

“Ideally, the resetting of the bone should be done by a trained medical professional”, Friday explained. “Since Doctor Cho and her team are still on their way, isolate the injury to stop the bleeding and to prevent it from becoming infected until medical help is available”.

“Ok”, Tony sniffed, running a shaking hand through his face. “Fine, I can do that. I can – okay. I can do that”, he nodded to himself, as if to regain some confidence. He had this. He was a mechanic. He fixed things. He could find a way to fix Peter, too. The boy wasn’t a machine – if anything, he was the extreme opposite –, but Tony would make things better. That was the least he could do, after Peter got kidnapped and hurt because of him.

He carefully, mindfully, gently touched a hand to Peter’s leg, meaning to remove the fabric of his jeans from around the wound. That was the first thing he needed to do, before properly bandaging the wound up with whatever clean fabric he could find. However, he didn’t manage to get too far. As soon as his shaking, hesitant hands made contact with Peter’s broken leg, the boy stirred, blinking his hazy eyes open.

Peter’s pupils were dilated and he had a deeply lost look on his face, eyes lazily looking around as he tried to recognize his surroundings and remember what had happened to him. He shivered again, which Tony took as a good sign, and blinked sluggishly as if fighting back sleep. Tony left the leg as it was for a moment and crawled back towards Peter’s head, so that the boy could see him. He was still lying very still on the floor, limbs limp and stiff, but his eyes were searching the room slowly, a glazed look covering them.

“Hey, Pete”, Tony said, managing to offer the boy a tight, reassuring smile that didn’t quite wipe the concern away from his eyes. “Hey, buddy. Are you with me?”, he asked when Peter gave no indication of hearing his words.

The boy’s eyes continued to search the room lazily, lips parted slightly as he stared straight through Tony. There was no recognition or focus in Peter’s glassy brown eyes, which only made Tony’s chest tighten even more. He looked completely out of it, as if he had been drugged, but Tony knew that this kind of mental confusion was probably just a side effect of the hypothermia.

“Pete. Peter”, Tony said, touching a hand to the boy’s stiff shoulder and squeezing it as if to call his attention. This earned no reaction from Peter. “Hey, look at me. Can you hear me? C’mon, squirt, you’re really scaring me right now”, he admitted, frowning when Peter continued to stare straight through him without even acknowledging his words or his touch. Tony could feel himself starting to freak out again, the hand squeezing Peter’s shoulder going back to shaking. He tightened his grip, lips forming a thin, tight line.

Then the hint of a frown appeared between Peter’s eyebrows and his eyes finally met Tony’s, making part of the billionaire’s stress deflate from his body. Tony’s shoulders dropped and he exhaled heavily, relief washing through his features as Peter’s lips quivered in an attempt to form words. He was looking right at Tony, and even though his eyes were still glazy and slightly unfocused, he seemed to have regained at least part of his awareness.

“M-M-M-Mr –“ , he was trying to say, but his jaw was to stiff and his lips were trembling too much for him to form the words. Tony shook his head, smiling softly at the boy.

“No, no, no, don’t try to speak”, he advised, once again squeezing Peter’s shoulder. Tony wanted nothing more than to hear Peter’s voice, but it was evident that the boy was in no state of talking on that moment. Peter stared at him with confusion and a hint of fear. “It’s ok, squirt, I’ve got you. You’ll be ok”, he reassured. Peter’s tiny frown deepened.

“M-M-M-May?”, he mustered, voice small and too weak for Tony’s liking. Peter looked so fragile and vulnerable like this, lying pale and half-dead on the dusty floor of an abandoned factory, leg broken and limbs frozen. His eyes began to dart the room, as if looking for his aunt.

On the top of all that, Peter was just so  _selfless_. There he was, injured, frozen half to death and almost making Tony have a heart attack, and his first concern was his  _aunt._  This boy was better than Tony could ever dream of being, and Tony loved him for that. He wished there was a way to make Peter’s injuries and pain go away with one snap of his fingers.

“May’s fine”, Tony smiled at him reassuringly, swallowing past the ever-growing lump in his throat. “She’s ok. No one touched her; she’s not hurt. She’s back at the SI. It’s  _you_  we need to worry about right now”, he tried to chuckle, but it ended up sounding more like a sob. Peter continued to stare at him with that clueless, confused look as he tried to make sense of Tony’s words. He looked like he wanted to reply, but didn’t know what to say. Tony gave him another tight smile that didn’t quite reach his guilt-ridden eyes and nodded reassuringly at the boy. “Just stay awake and don’t try to speak. I’m going to take care of you”.

Peter blinked dumbly at Tony for several seconds, frowning slightly as the words started to make sense to his fuzzy, confused mind.

“M-M-Mr. Stark?”, he asked again, sounding too out of it for Tony’s liking. “ ’m I dreaming again?”

Tony sniffed, shaking his head at Peter and trying his best to keep smiling reassuringly at the boy, even though smiling was the last thing he wanted to do on that moment. He felt stupid for being so emotional about this, but Peter was scaring the living hell out of him. He had never seen the boy so disoriented.

“No, squirt”, Tony reassured. “You’re not dreaming. You’re awake. And you need to stay that way, ok? Help’s on its way, and you wouldn’t want to miss it by taking a nap”, he jested, hoping that it would be enough to make Peter fight back against the sleep that was so clearly trying to reclaim him. The boy blinked sluggishly at him, only half-aware of what was happening. He continued to show signs of delayed comprehension of what Tony was telling him, and only reacted to the words after a few moments.

“But… you’re… you’re already h-here”, Peter frowned in confusion. Tony felt like his heart was trying to tear itself apart. Peter shivered violently then, closing his eyes and trying to curl into himself. The movement disrupted his fractured leg and he whimpered, face scrunching up in pain. “Ouch”, he complained, voice so low that Tony wouldn’t have heard it, had he not been kneeling right beside Peter’s head.

“I know it hurts, kid”, Tony said, removing the jacket from the top of Peter’s torso and moving back towards his leg. “But I have to wrap this up, ok? That’s a nasty injury you got there, and you wouldn’t want it to get infected. Just stay very still and don’t fight back”, he instructed.

“Ok”, Peter said, staring straight ahead at the ceiling and not sounding like he had understood one single word Tony was saying. His eyes blinked sluggishly and heavily.

The sign that the billionaire’s words went unheard by the boy was that, as soon as Tony went back to touching Peter’s leg, he yelped in pain, trying to sit up but unable to use his elbows for support.

“No, no, no, don’t,  _don’t_ ,  _DON’T_!”, he screamed, wriggling on the floor and miserably struggling against the shirt keeping his arms close to his torso. As if finally realizing his limitation for the first time, Peter weakly tried to remove his arms from the inside of the shirt, successfully managing to pass them through the sleeves after a few attempts and going back to shivering violently. He looked like he was trying to crawl away from Tony, but didn’t have enough coordination or strength to do so. Tony tried his best to keep Peter still and on his back, but the boy remained ignorant of his efforts.

“Peter. Pete, hey, you gotta stay down!”, Tony said, trying to hold Peter down on the floor by his shoulders. Once the boy managed reset his arms through his sleeves, and once Tony let go of his injured leg, he calmed down, leaning his head back against the floor and closing his eyes slightly, panting heavily through the pain.

“Please, don’ t – don’t touch it”, he sighed, sounding exhausted and week. “H-Hurts”.

“I  _know_ , kiddo”, Tony said, helpless. If there was any way he could take the pain away from Peter, he would. “But I can’t let it get infected, ok? I know it hurts and you shouldn’t have to go through this, but I’m just going to wrap this around your leg”, he showed Peter the jacket. “Only that, and then I’ll leave it alone”, he promised. Peter opened his eyes to stare at Tony with something akin to suspicion, but there was also a paradoxical hint of trust in his eyes that made Tony’s chest warm up.

“Prom’se?”, he asked weakly, almost fearful. Tony nodded firmly and swallowed dry.

“I promise”, he squeezed Peter’s shoulder with affection. “But you gotta stay still, all right?”, he asked. Peter nodded briefly and threw his head back again, closing his eyes and holding his breath. Tony didn’t know if he had understood him. “Hey. You with me?”, he asked. Peter nodded again. “Ok. Don’t move”, he instructed, just to be safe. Sparing Peter one last worried glance, he turned his attention to the broken leg.

Tony tried his best not to touch his hand directly on Peter’s open wound, because he didn’t have any sort of sanitizer on him and he didn’t want to enhance the chance of the boy’s injury getting infected. Instead, he carefully removed the fabric of the jeans from the top of the injury, pushing it up to his knee and trying not to gag again at the now more explicit sight of the bone protruding from the puffy red flesh. He turned his head away for a second, trying to take deep breaths and calm himself down before he could be sick. All the while, he did his best to ignore Peter’s whimpers and muffled cries, especially when Tony moved his jeans up.

The boy’s face was scrunched up in pain and his eyes were squeezed shut with such force that it looked like they would get bruised. There was a sheen of cold sweat making Peter’s forehead glisten and he looked like he was mustering all strength left in his body in order not to cry out or scream, as if he wanted to prove himself to Tony. The thought made a deep sense of guilt wash over him again, but also restored his determination to help Peter. Managing to keep the bile threatening to raise to his throat down, Tony took another deep breath and went back to his ministrations.

He wrapped the jacket around Peter’s injury as gently and carefully as he could, but Peter’s sounds of protest still increased as Tony went. By the time he was done tying the jacket – which was the only possible thing he could use to isolate Peter’s injury at that moment – around the boy’s leg, Peter was openly sobbing and groaning, fingers scratching at the floor beneath him.

“Hey”, Tony called, dragging himself back towards Peter’s upper half. “Hey, it’s ok. It’s over. I’m not touching it anymore”, he said reassuringly, taking hold of Peter’s shoulders and pulling him to his chest like he had done before. Peter’s skin was still freezing to the touch and his hypothermia still looked severe, but at least he had begun to shiver again, little sporadic spasms overcoming his body and making him shake like a leaf every now and then. That had to be a good sign, right?

“M-Mr. Stark”, Peter said once he was cradled against Tony’s chest, lower lip quivering miserably and glassy eyes not quite focusing on the billionaire’s face as he looked up at him. He had tucked his hands beneath his armpits as if to preserve warmth, but was still shaking violently beneath Tony’s grasp. He went back to rubbing Peter’s arms with his hands, hoping that the friction would provide the confused boy with some warmth. “I don’t have a jacket”, Peter announced. Tony frowned.

“I’ll buy you one”, Tony reassured, not quite sure what Peter’s point was. The boy still looked – and sounded – too disoriented and confused for Tony’s liking, eyes glassy and incapable of focusing on anything for longer than a few seconds. “I’ll buy you as many jackets as you want, but you have to stay awake. Deal?”

“N-No, I m-mean –“, Peter hesitated, sounding exhausted. His eyes closed and he leaned his head heavily on Tony’s shoulder, as if about to fall asleep. “I d-d-don’t have one  _here_. I’m trying n-not to f-freeze but I d-don’t have a jacket. F-First rule is you gotta p-preserve warmth”.

Tony held Peter closer, almost too protectively. Did the boy think he was still stuck in the freezer? Did he think Tony’s presence was a dream?

“You’re out of the freezer, buddy”, Tony reassured him, running his hands on Peter’s shivering arms. “I got you out. You’re safe, now. Don’t worry about the jacket. I’m gonna keep you warm, then some crazy doctors are going to show up and take care of you, all right? You’ll be just fine. Don’t worry about it”. Peter frowned.

“I… I think m-my leg’s b-broken”, he announced pensively, staring at the distance as if the thought had just occurred to him. Tony swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“Your leg will be fine. Just focus on staying awake and maybe try not to speak so much. Save your energy”, he instructed, not sure of what else he could say. The only thing he knew was that telling Peter about the real state of his leg was definitely not a wise decision at the time. He didn’t want to disrupt the boy’s already fragile state even more, despite of the fact that the word  _amputation_ was still looming threateningly in his mind.

“Gotta k-keep Gargan d-down, though”, Peter sighed sleepily, closing his eyes again. He shifted, looking like he wanted to get up but lacked the strength to do so. “He’s g-gonna hurt Aunt M-M-May”.

“Aunt May is safe”, Tony said, worried. He had no idea where Gargan was, but he was not there, otherwise Friday would have read his vitals on the factory’s premises. That was for the best on that moment, because Tony’s priority was taking care of Peter and ensuring the boy’s recovery; but he would definitely hunt Gargan down as soon as he was sure Peter was safe. There was no way Tony would let the man get away with everything he had put Peter through. “I told you that already. Just focus on yourself for once in your life, Pete”, he sighed, baffled by the boy’s tendency to always put other people first.

“I… I think…”, Peter hesitated, looking confused. He searched Tony’s face for something, but didn’t look like he had found it. “I think something’s w-wrong with m-my leg”.

“I know, squirt”, Tony nodded at him. He could no longer keep smiling at Peter, and the deep concern he was feeling for the boy was painfully evident in his face. “You said that already”, he added, worried. Peter frowned again, confused.

“I… did?”, he asked, uncertainty evident in his tone.

“Yeah, you did. But that’s all right. Just stay awake, ok?”, Tony asked again, helpless, because Peter’s eyes were drooping closed more and more often and he didn’t know what to do. The only thing he knew was that keeping the boy awake was primordial to ensure his survival, but speaking so much seemed to be draining Peter of all his energy.

“I’m s-sorry, M-M-Mr. –“, Peter tried to say, unable to continue due to the violence with which his teeth were rattling. He was shivering all over now, eyes squeezing shut and one of his hands limply clinging to the front of Tony’s shirt as if it was a lifeline. Tony held him closer.

“Shh”, Tony reassured, never ceasing to rub his hands all over Peter’s arms. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. Just stay awake and don’t talk. You need to save your energies, kiddo”.

“C-Can you turn the heater up?”, Peter asked, sounding lost. “I’m f-f-freezing”.

“I know”, Tony said, tilting his head up so that the tears wouldn’t escape his eyes. He couldn’t cry in front of the kid. He couldn’t cry at all. Peter  _needed_  him. But seeing the boy so lost, so confused, so  _hurt_  – it was doing ugly things to Tony’s heart. He had never known he could care as much about someone as he cared about Peter. He had never  _expected himself_  to care as much about someone as he cared about Peter. “I’m working on it, squirt”, he said, hoping it would be enough to calm the boy down.

“T-Thanks, Tony”, Peter sighed, snuggling his head against Tony’s shoulder and closing his eyes. Tony’s chest warmed up at this, and he didn’t think he had ever felt as much paternal affection for Peter as he was feeling on that moment. Peter so clearly trusted him – so clearly relied on him – that if made Tony’s heart ache. This boy had been kidnapped because of him, tortured because of him, injured because of him, and he still… didn’t seem to hold any grudge against Tony. If anything, he had tried to  _apologize_  to Tony for getting kidnapped.

Tony had no idea what he could have possibly done to deserve someone as amazing as Peter in his life, and he was actually pretty sure he  _didn’t_  deserve him. His love for the kid made him feel vulnerable and liable, but more than anything, it made him feel guilty. Because if Tony didn’t care about Peter – if Tony didn’t love him –, the boy wouldn’t have been caught in this whole mess in the first place.

Tony felt selfish and greedy for wanting to keep Peter in his life – for deciding to tutor the kid, for inviting him over to the workshop and getting close to him. For taking him out around the city, for showing him around and buying him ice cream and giving him things like a father would to a child. It wasn’t that Peter didn’t deserve those things – it was that they had placed a target on the middle of the boy’s head, because that was what always happened to the people Tony cared about. They either hurt him – like Howard, and Obadiah, and… and Steve –, or they  _got hurt_  because of him – like Pepper, and Rhodes, and Happy, and a countless list of others  that had died on his account.

The truth was – Tony wasn’t meant to be loved. At least, that was how he felt. People who loved him hurt him, or got hurt because of him. That was a kind of responsibility that he couldn’t deal with, and more often than not, made him remember Howard’s words:  _Stark men are made of iron_. He was better off not allowing anyone in, because whenever he did, he got hurt in the end. He was better off shielding himself with iron.

He had tried to convince himself that letting Peter in wouldn’t be a mistake. He had tried to convince himself that Peter was just a kid – a happy-go-lucky, too-kind-to-be-true,  _amazing_  kid – that couldn’t possibly betray Tony, or sell him off to terrorists, or beat him, or  _hurt_ him. He, in his selfishness, never thought about the possibility that  _Peter_  would be the one to get hurt instead.

Of course, Tony worried about Peter getting hurt all the time – the kid was constantly diving head-first into danger, fighting criminals bigger than himself and disobeying Tony’s orders to stay on his lane more often than not. But Tony had never, ever considered that Peter could end up getting hurt directly because of him. Because all this – Peter getting kidnapped, Peter getting injured, Peter getting frozen half to death – this was all on him. If he hadn’t gotten close to Peter – if he hadn’t allowed Peter to get close to him – none of this would have happened. And Peter would have been safe. And Peter wouldn’t be lying half-frozen against Tony’s chest with his broken bone sticking out of his leg.

May was right. Tony couldn’t be close to Peter anymore. He had brought nothing but pain and danger into the boy’s life when he allowed himself to be close to him. The thought of Peter stopping to come over to the workshop to have science talks and suit try-outs every other day after school made Tony’s heart ache in protest inside his chest. The thought of not taking Peter to the movies or to that stupid Ben & Jerry’s he loved so much, the thought of not hearing Peter’s stupidly over-childlike voice saying that ‘ _Stark Raving Hazelnuts is my favorite flavor!_ ’, the thought of never seeing Peter again, made his whole body twitch in protest.

But he couldn’t have Peter getting hurt on his behalf anymore.

Peter was silent for a long moment, finally obeying Tony for once in his life, but when his grasp on the billionaire’s shirt became slack and his still shivering limbs began to relax, sagging his body’s weight against the older man’s chest, Tony gently nudged him. He couldn’t let the kid fall asleep.

“Hey. No sleeping”, he instructed, managing to sound firm even though he was freaking out. He turned his head in an uncomfortable position so that he could look at Peter, whose eyes had closed and whose lips were parted slightly. Tony nudged him again as if to emphasize his words.

“Tired”, Peter sighed sleepily, in a barely audible voice. His body became limp in Tony’s grasp, and the man freaked out.

“What is it about you and doing as I tell you?”, Tony asked frantically, shifting his position on the floor so that he could hold Peter in a more of a sitting position. Peter just rolled limply as Tony moved him, in a rag doll-like manner. “Stay awake, Spider-Boy. That’s an order”, Tony insisted, shaking Peter’s shoulders. He hoped his firm tone and words would serve to trick the boy into obeying him, even though he was feeling terribly afraid. Peter shivered and grimaced, but his eyes blinked open once more. Tony sighed in relief.

“Sleep”, Peter argued simply, managing to sound whiny. Tony huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes, never releasing his grip on the boy.

“You can sleep later, when you’re better”, he pointed out, going back to rubbing Peter’s arms. “Right now, you need to stay awake and concentrate. Besides, sleep is overrated”.

“You say tha’ ‘cause you don’ like sleep”, Peter mumbled sleepily into his shoulder, sighing again. His body was shivering all over and he still looked deathly pale, but if he had gone back to bantering with Tony, then it could only mean he was getting better. Maybe his super-metabolism had something to do with that.

“Yeah, there’s a reason why people keep comparing me to Da Vinci”, Tony replied, holding Peter close so that the body contact would keep him warm. Rubbing the boy’s arms didn’t seem to be causing too much of an effect, but from the way Peter kept snuggling closer to Tony like a needy child, it seemed like that the body contact was providing the boy with at least some warmth. He hoped Friday would find a way to make Cho and her team arrive faster.

“’Cause you’re b-both geniuses”, Peter hummed, only half-aware. Tony scoffed, but affection blossomed in his heart at Peter’s words.

“Yeah, buddy. And because neither of us are great fans of taking naps”, he pointed out. He gave up on preventing Peter from speaking – if that was the only thing that kept the boy from falling asleep, so be it. He needed to ensure Peter’s survival in any and all the ways he could.

“Not good”, Peter frowned slightly, tilting his head up to give Tony a slightly disapproving, concerned look. “N-Need sleep. It’s important”, he argued. Tony wanted to scream.

“Yeah, I know, Pete”, he sighed, squeezing the boy’s shoulder. Peter’s eyes went back to being glassy, lost in the distance. “Stop worrying about literally everyone else and focus on yourself for once, okay?”, he raised an incredulous eyebrow at Peter’s selflessness.

“M-Mr. Stark…?”, Peter asked after a few seconds, as if overcome by a sudden epiphany. He averted his big, unfocused, confused eyes towards Tony, something akin to fear glistening inside them. “I think t-there’s something wrong with m-my leg”.

“ _Jesus_ ”, Tony whispered under his breath, closing his eyes in an attempt to recompose. Peter was so out of it, it was unbelievable. He had never seen the boy so helpless and utterly disoriented, and he didn’t think he would ever be able to forget the glassy, lost look in Peter’s huge eyes staring at him. The dry blood coated beneath his nostrils, the bruises painting his pale cheek, the unhealthy, constant quiver of his lower lip – all of those were images that would be embedded in Tony’s brain forever, serving as nothing other than a source of guilt and sorrow.

Peter, however, seemed to be oblivious to Tony’s feelings, because he was weakly attempting to get into a sitting position and take a look at his leg, which could only be a bad idea at that moment, especially because of the sickening way the bone was sticking out from the limb. Before the boy could get too far in his curiosity, Tony pulled him back against his chest, running a soothing hand through Peter’s hair in the hope that it would help him calm down and settle back. He hated how intimate that gesture felt, because he didn’t want to show the affection he felt for Peter in a situation like this. Tony hardly displayed affection as a normal person – he only had Howard to thank for that –, but Peter was  _special_  to him. Peter had molded his way into Tony’s heart in a manner that could only be topped by Pepper and Rhodes, but Tony was still in the stage of pretending he didn’t love the boy. Because if Peter knew that Tony loved him like a son – if Peter knew the absolute power he held over Tony – he could use it against him, like so many people had done before. And nothing would break Tony’s heart more violently than having Peter betray him like that.

Of course, he knew the boy was too good to betray him. Which was why Tony had been putting an special effort on showing Peter, in the best ways he could, how much he cared about him. Inviting him over to the workshop, tutoring him, taking him out to eat whatever fast-food he liked best, being around him – all of those were strategies that Tony hoped would serve as a proper replacement to those three little words he dreaded so much to say.

And all of those were exactly what got Peter into this whole mess in the first place.

He held Peter close and ruffled the boy’s hair in the exact way he knew Peter loved, because those were probably the last moments of closeness he’d ever share with the kid. He had made a tactical mistake that put Peter’s life and safety on the line; he had made a mistake that could have taken the kid away from him forever. His mistake hadn’t been to  _feel_ – heavens knew that he couldn’t help but to feel things for people, as much as he pretended that he didn’t –; his mistake had been allowing people to  _see that_.

He couldn’t allow anyone to see that anymore, or Peter could end up paying the price again. Which meant this was the last personal, intimate moment he would ever afford to share with the kid before he stepped out of Peter’s life for good. Tony hated that thought, but he knew it was necessary. It was the only way to keep Peter safe in the future.

Almost as if sensing Tony’s grief for the separation that was to come, but completely unaware of it, Peter turned his head to look at his mentor again, eyes droopy and blinking sluggishly as he tried his best to fight against sleep. His lower lip was still quivering from the cold, the bluish tinging diminishing but still lingering on his face.

“Did you m-manage to turn t-the heating up-p?”, Peter asked curiously. Tony nodded, sniffing slightly and putting on his I-know-better façade.

“It’s a work in progress, kid”, he said simply, not wanting to make Peter even more confused than he already was. Furthermore, if he bothered to explain that they needed to wait for Doctor Cho to arrive and all the implications of that, it was probable that Peter would forget all about it a minute after Tony was done speaking. “Don’t break a sweat over it”.

“’Kay”, Peter complied obediently, going back to resting his head against Tony’s shoulder. He was shivering very hard now, shaking with every breath he took.

“You’re gonna be fine”, Tony said reassuringly, because it was the only thing he could say on that moment. Peter relaxed against him once more, but before Tony could even think about nudging him or waking him up, the boy jolted back to awareness, eyes wide as if he had suddenly remembered something. He lifted his head to stare at Tony, eyes worried and big.

“You’re n-not in your s-s-suit”, he pointed out. Tony nodded.

“Yeah, kid, the suit is standing watch”, he reassured, nodding at where the suit was standing in a protective mode in front of the exit to the room. “It’s ok, you don’t have to worry about it”.

“N-No”, Peter protested, trying – and failing – to sit up. He leaned heavily against Tony’s chest, panting and writhing as if desperate to move away. “G-Gargan. He’ll – h-he will…”, he trailed off, shivering. Tony held him closer, trying not to put much thought on the way Peter was staring at him with concern.

“He’s not going to hurt you”, Tony reassured, squeezing Peter’s shoulder. “He’s gone, it’s over, now. He can’t get to you, ok? I’ve got your back”.

“B-But you’re n-not wearing a s-suit”, Peter insisted, frowning. Tony sighed.

“Yeah, thanks for the trust, kiddo, but I don’t need the suit to protect you”, Tony scoffed, never letting go of Peter. He felt a bit offended that the boy thought Tony needed a suit to keep him safe, but tried not to think too much about it. The kid was disoriented and possibly traumatized – he couldn’t exactly be blamed for being afraid.

“N-No”, Peter shook his trembling head slightly, growing frantic. “H-He’s g-g-gonna hurt you. G-Gotta keep you safe”, he tried to explain through quivering lips. His fingers clung to the front of Tony’s shirt with more urgency. “I g-gotta k-keep you safe”, he repeated with a sigh, leaning heavily on Tony, as if he wanted to use the man as support to stand up but didn’t have the energy to do so. His eyes closed and he slumped against Tony, exhausted.

Oh.

Peter was injured. Peter was half-frozen and out of his mind from pain and cold, and he was still trying to protect Tony. To keep Tony safe. Because he knew Tony wasn’t wearing his suit.

Shit. Tony couldn’t quite keep from crying at this.

Thankfully, as if to muffle the sound of his gasps and held-back sobs, a loud noise echoed in the room and in no time, the War Machine armor was bursting through the ceiling and landing on the floor a few feet away from where Tony was sitting cradling Peter. Before Tony could call his friend’s name, the suit was opening up and Rhodes was stepping out of it, making his way to where the pair was sitting as fast as he physically could. Tony saw the way his friend’s face paled and twisted in horror as soon as he laid eyes on Peter’s trembling form, enveloped by Tony’s hands.

“Oh my _god_ ; what happened?!”, he immediately asked, landing on his knees beside Tony and Peter. The position couldn’t possibly be comfortable to him, but one glimpse at Peter’s broken leg made all of Rhodes’ pain disappear from his mind in the blink of an eye. No discomfort he was feeling could possibly top  _that_.

“Kid fought Gargan”, Tony explained, voice tight and constricted, sniffing and gasping as he held Peter’s unconscious body. The boy had fallen back asleep despite of Tony’s best efforts. “Broke his leg at some point. He was stuck in the freezer for two hours before I got to him”, he explained, unable to sound anything other than horrified.

Finally sparing his best friend one more attentive look – Rhodes had been so focused on Peter’s miserable state that he barely had the time to properly look at Tony –, he realized that the billionaire looked very pale and shaky. His eyes were red-rimmed and glistening with tears, face stuck in an expression of grim guilt that broke Rhodes’ heart. Before Rhodes could even acknowledge all the information Tony was telling him, his best friend was shifting on the floor, holding Peter close to his chest in a father-like manner and struggling to sustain the boy’s weight into an upright position. His voice was coated in a pleading tone that was extremely rare to hear from  _Tony Stark_ , of all people.

“Help me, Rhodes”, he basically begged, sounding – and looking – desperate. He looked like he wanted to say more – to  _beg_  more – but couldn’t find the proper words. He didn’t need to, though – Rhodes was willing to help him in all the ways he could, even if Tony hadn’t asked.

“Did Friday scan him?”, Rhodes asked, taking a hand to Peter’s forehead to check his temperature and grimacing at the coldness of the skin. The wound in his leg looked terrible, and even though it was wrapped by Tony’s jacket, Rhodes could see that some blood had seeped through and pooled on the floor.

“Five bruised ribs”, Tony provided, cradling Peter protectively. “Broken nose. Severe hypothermia. Compound fracture on his leg”, he sounded like he was struggling to enunciate the words. Peter was out cold in Tony’s arms. “I’m trying to warm him up by keeping him close, but I don’t know what else to do. I already called Cho in and she’s on her way already”.

Rhodes’ eyes widened at the mention of a compound fracture. His primary instinct was to lift the jacket up from Peter’s leg to take a proper look at the wound, but he knew better than doing so. Not only the movement would probably hurt Peter, but Rhodes had little medical training. He had learned the basics of first aid during his time serving his country, but he wasn’t qualified to take proper care of a wound as complex as a compound fracture.

“Ok”, Rhodes swallowed dry, trying to keep it cool. “All right. Keep holding him close – I’ll look around the place and see if I can find anything to warm him up. Is there anyone still around?”, he asked, taking a look at the empty room.

“Only that guy”, Tony nodded at the unconscious body splayed on the floor a few feet away from them. “Friday didn’t pick up anyone else at the scan”.

“Good”, Rhodes nodded, getting back to his feet with a bit of difficulty and using the wall beside him as a support. “I’ll be back in a few. We can’t really use my suit’s heater; increasing his body temp too fast would do more harm than good”.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought”, Tony nodded, going back to rubbing Peter’s arms without consciously realizing it. The boy stirred at the new movement, eyes blinking open sluggishly as they had a few minutes before and looking around with a blank, glassy gaze.

“He’s waking up”, Rhodes announced, making Tony shift his head in order to look at the boy in his arms. Rhodes took a step closer to see Peter better.

“Hey, Pete”, Tony called, sounding affectionate and worried in a way that he rarely showed anyone. “You with me?”

Peter turned his eyes towards Tony, taking longer than he should have to focus on the man holding him. His lower lip quivered miserably and the hint of a frown appeared between his eyebrows as he searched his mentor’s face.

“M-M-Mr. Stark?”, he asked, voice weaker than it had been before. To Tony, it felt like Peter was slipping away, even though he was holding the boy as tight as he could.

“Yeah, kid, the one and only”, Tony jested, hoping the familiarity would aid Peter back into a more conscious state. Peter stared at him blankly for a few moments, confused.

“Where…”, he coughed weakly, shivering violently. “W-Where are w-we?”

Tony exchanged one quick worried glance with Rhodes before returning his attention to the shivering boy in his arms.

“We’re at the factory”, he provided, patient. “But don’t worry about that. We’ll be leaving soon, ok?”

“ ‘Kay”, Peter sighed sleepily, closing his eyes again. Tony immediately nudged him.

“Hey, sleeping beauty”, he teased, even though there was a deep concern in his tone. “No naps for now”, he instructed firmly. Peter frowned again, parting his eyes just enough so that he could give Tony a half-hearted glare.

“You’re always t-telling m-me I should take m-more p-power naps”, he pointed out, stubborn.

“Yeah, but not right now”, Tony protested, shifting Peter’s weight so that he could hold him better. The boy snuggled against Tony sleepily. “Right now you need to stay awake and  _not sleep_ , all right?”

“But ‘m tired”, Peter sighed again, eyes slipping back close. Tony looked up at Rhodes, desperation evident in his eyes.

“Keep him awake”, his best friend said. “I’ll find something to warm him up”.

Before Tony had the time to reply, Rhodes was already rushing out of the room, disappearing through the door. Tony couldn’t remember if there were blankets or duvets in those rooms he saw through the surveillance feed, but he hoped there were. He was well aware that just holding Peter wouldn’t be enough to warm the boy up until Cho and her medical team arrived. What he could – and needed to – do, was keep Peter awake, like Rhodes had said. Tony nudged the dozing boy again, trying to call his attention.

“Hey. What did I say about sleeping?”, he raised an eyebrow at Peter, who frowned in annoyance at Tony interrupting his sleep again. He didn’t open his eyes as he responded.

“Not… good?”, he asked, hesitant. Tony sighed.

“Yeah, kid. Not good. Open your eyes and stay awake”, he ordered, a bit too harshly. He shifted on the floor again, trying to keep Peter as comfortable as possible. The boy seemed unaware of Tony’s efforts.

“M-Mr. Stark?”, he asked, eyes still closed and speech slurred from sleep and cold.

“That’s my name”, Tony responded, holding Peter close.

“W-What’s going on?”, Peter asked, voice lost and small. He sounded like he really didn’t know the answer to that question, which only made Tony’s lips tighten into a thin, stern line.

“You were hurt”, he said simply, not wanting to elaborate too much lest he confuse Peter even further. “But you’re going to be fine. I’ve got you now. We just need to wait for a bit longer until you can go home”.

Peter was silent for a long while after this, his breaths coming out through shallow, short puffs against Tony’s collarbone. Tony didn’t need to look at his face to know that the kid was probably struggling to make sense of Tony’s words and remember what had happened.

“W-W-Where’s G-Gargan?”, Peter finally asked after a long while, sounding a bit more aware but also more tired.

“I don’t know, Pete”, Tony admitted. “He’s gone. But he’s not going to hurt you anymore, ok?”, he added before the boy could freak out, hoping that the words would reassure him. instead, Peter shifted weakly on his grasp, turning his head up so that he could stare straight into Tony’s eyes.

“S-So he g-got out of t-the f-freezer?”, Peter asked, looking worried. Tony could immediately feel the blood dropping from his face towards his stomach.

“Gargan was in the freezer with you?”, he asked, completely unable to keep the shock from his voice. Peter blinked up at him several times.

“Y-Yeah”, he admitted, sounding exhausted. “D-Dropped a shelf on him”, he added, as if that was enough of an explanation. His eyes slipped closed again, head lolling tiredly against Tony’s shoulder as if providing the billionaire with that bit of information was enough for him to go be allowed back to sleep. Tony nudged him for what felt like the hundredth time.

“No sleeping”, he instructed absentmindedly, using one of his hands to activate the com in his ear. “Fri, tell me there’s no one inside that freezer”, he asked.

“There are no life forms inside the freezer”, Friday promptly replied.

“Yeah, but are there… is there…”, Tony trailed off, sighing heavily and closing his eyes for a moment. “Is there a body?”, he whispered, trying to keep his voice low as if to prevent Peter from hearing him, even though the boy was literally lying on his lap.

This time, it took Friday longer to reply.

“I’m afraid there is, boss”, she said grimly after a few seconds.

“Shit”, he whispered to himself, never allowing his grasp on Peter to falter. “ _Shit_ ”.

“Wha’s wrong?”, Peter frowned, twisting against Tony’s hold and trying to sit up, even though he lacked the energy to do so. He looked worried. “Are y-you okay?”, he asked, glazed eyes looking around as if searching for any possible threats. Tony sighed again.

“Yeah, I’m ok, Pete”, he reassured, leaning his head against the wall behind him. “How about you? How are you feeling?”, he asked, in the hopes that the conversation would make Peter stay awake for longer. He needed to distract the kid by any means necessary.

“C-Cold”, the boy said simply, shivering as if to emphasize his point.

“I figure you are”, Tony said, rubbing the boy’s arm. “But we’re gonna warm you up soon enough. Rhodey will be back any minute now”, he promised.

“T-Thanks, Mr. S-Stark”, Peter said, sighing softly and sounding relieved. This, however, didn’t last long – a moment after relaxing on Tony’s grasp, Peter jolted again, head perking up and looking around as if, once again, he had suddenly remembered something important. Tony held him down before he could harm himself further, and Peter turned his head to search Tony’s face with something akin to fear in his eyes. “W-Where’s M-May?”

“May’s fine”, Tony repeated his words from before, chest tightening. Peter sounded so lost. “She’s back at Stark Industries. Don’t worry about her, ok?”, he raised an eyebrow at the boy.

“S-She’s fine?”, Peter asked, looking almost sorrowful. “Y-You’re s-sure?”

“I’m sure”, Tony nodded at him, forcing out a smile. “I checked it. She’s ok”.

“Ok”, Peter relaxed, settling himself back against Tony’s chest. “Ok”, he sighed, relieved. “T-Thank you, M-Mr. Stark”, he added after a few moments as an afterthought.

“What for, kid?”, Tony frowned. Peter stared blankly at the distance for a while, as if trying to come up with a response for that question.

“F-For… For…”, he attempted, struggling with the words. “N-Not giving up”, he finally mustered, sounding hesitant. “On m-me”.

Tony tightened his hold on Peter’s arms, pulling him even closer – if that was even physically possible. He turned his head to face the kid, affection and guilt so evident in his eyes that Peter would have felt guilty for putting that look in Tony’s face, had he been more conscious.

“Pete”, he said, sounding very serious and more emotional than he would have liked to. Those words felt too personal to be told to a barely-conscious Peter, but Tony needed to say them anyway. “I’m never,  _ever_  giving up on you”.

Peter studied Tony’s face with big, glassy eyes for a long while, taking longer than it should have to make sense of the words.

“Prom’se?”, he asked, hesitant. His voice was small. Tony nodded solemnly.

“I promise”, he said, squeezing Peter’s shoulder for good measure. “Now keep your eyes open and stay awake”, he added firmly, propping the boy up into a somewhat more sitting position.

Rhodes resurged from downstairs then, several blankets and one duvet wrapped in his arms. Tony felt himself grow a bit more relieved, given the circumstances – at least with the blankets, he could keep Peter as warm as possible until medical help arrived.

“These were all I could find”, Rhodes announced, kneeling back down beside Tony and Peter and already wrapping the boy up in the first blanket, not minding Tony beneath him. “But they’ll do until Cho arrives. Just keep holding him and talk to him so he doesn’t sleep”, he instructed without looking at Tony, continuing to wrap Peter up in the blankets like a burrito.

“I’m trying to”, Tony admitted, shifting so that Rhodes could envelop Peter with the blankets better. “But kid’s really stubborn”, he added with a discontent sigh, nudging Peter again as if to prove his point. Rhodes rolled his eyes.

“He takes it after you”, he added without really thinking about it. Tony stiffened. People thinking that Peter was his son – that… that Peter took after him – was what had gotten them into this whole mess in the first place. That was what had almost killed Peter.

However, before he could protest or correct Rhodes’ words, Peter hissed loudly against his chest, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut in pain and discomfort. He groaned loudly, writhing miserably against Tony’s hold, and with one horrified glance, the billionaire saw that one of the blankets had dragged against Peter’s wound and possibly pulled at the tender skin around the sticking bone.

“His leg!”, Tony explained, since Rhodes was eyeing Peter with wide, shocked eyes that had no clue what was troubling the boy. At Tony’s words, he immediately turned and removed the blanket from anywhere near Peter’s leg, which immediately made the boy slump against Tony, relief evident in his features. Peter blinked his eyes open again, sluggish and even glassier than before.

“W-Wha’…?”, he asked, slurred and disoriented. Rhodes gave him an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, Pete, I didn’t mean to”, he explained, going back to wrapping Peter in the remaining blankets. Peter eyed him with confusion for several moments before focusing his eyes on Rhodes’ face.

“Hey”, he said simply, as if finding the Iron Patriot wrapping him up in several blankets while Tony Stark cradled him to his chest was just a part of his natural routine. Rhodes offered him a tentative small smile.

“Hey, kid”, he greeted, tucking the blankets carefully around Peter while Tony continued to hold him. “How are you holding up?”

“I…”, Peter frowned, as if only then becoming aware of his own discomfort. He shivered again and curled into himself, turning his head to look at Tony with a miserable look. “I d-don’t feel so good”, he admitted, voice shaky and small. Tony swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“I know, kiddo”, he said reassuringly. Rhodes wrapped the last blanket around Peter’s torso and arms, carefully placing the duvet on the top of the kid’s legs while minding the gruesome injury. “We’re working on making you feel better, ok?”

“Ok”, Peter said, trust so evident in his tone that it made Tony’s heart ache. He closed his eyes again, but reopened them before Tony could protest. “Are y-you ok?”, he asked Tony, the hint of a frown appearing between his brows once again. Tony blinked several times at Peter, not quite understanding.

“Yeah, Pete, I’m fine”, he said, tilting his head. “Why do you ask that?”

“You’re c-crying”, Peter pointed out, looking worried. “D-Did he hurt you too?”

Tony turned his head to the side, facing away from Peter and only then realizing that the tears that he had managed to hold back for so long had finally escaped his eyes, rolling down his pale cheeks pathetically. The last thing he had wanted was for Peter to see him cry, but he had failed. Not only Peter was seeing how distraught Tony was, but he was also worried about him. Worried about Tony being _hurt_. He didn’t deserve to have this kid in his life.

“No, kid, I’m ok”, Tony reassured, unable to meet Peter’s eyes and hating the way his voice sounded constricted and hurt. Rhodes had the decency not to comment anything.

“M-Mr. Stark”, Peter called, still frowning. Tony didn’t look at him. “I… I don’t t-think I can walk home”, he said, out of it. Tony turned to frown at him in disbelief.

“You’re not  _walking home_ , Spider-Kid”, he said, offended that the boy would even consider that Tony would demand that of him. Of course, he needed to take into consideration that Peter was completely disoriented from the hypothermia, so it was only natural he didn’t make a lot of sense. “You don’t have to walk at all. We’re taking you wherever you need to go”, he assured. Peter tilted his head to the side with curiosity.

“Is Happy d-driving?”, he asked, sounding wary. “I… I d-don’t think he likes m-me, Mr. Stark”, Peter admitted, looking embarrassed. Tony sighed.

“He likes you just fine, kid. I think it’s actually impossible for anyone who’s known you for more than five minutes  _not_  to like you. You’re like the human version of a puppy”, Tony said, rolling his eyes. “Happy is just a cranky old man. Don’t take his words to heart”, he advised.

Peter stared at the distance for a few moments, trying to understand what Tony was telling him. He continued to stare straight ahead with a blank expression before responding.

“I like H-Happy”, he admitted, sounding more asleep than awake.

“You can tell him that when we see him in a few hours, all right?”, Tony said, nudging Peter before the boy could fall asleep again. “But you gotta stay awake to do that”.

Peter sighed, half-annoyed, half-resigned. He looked like there was nothing more he wanted to do than to fall asleep, but was keeping himself awake just because Tony had asked him to. One of his hands was clutching the front of Tony’s shirt as if to keep himself anchored to reality, but every now and then the grasp grew limp, as if Peter was falling asleep, just to tighten again as soon as Tony nudged him. This went on for almost an hour, Peter sporadically falling asleep for a few seconds before Tony nudged him back into wakefulness.

All the attempts Rhodes made at trying to start a conversation with Peter in order to distract him ended with the kid staring at him with glassy eyes, not quite following his words and falling asleep in just a few seconds, only to be nudged by Tony’s sore arms again. The billionaire’s limbs were growing stiff for staying in the same position supporting Peter’s weight for a long time, but he didn’t dare to move. Rhodes offered to hold Peter for a while so that Tony could stretch, but he refused to let go of the kid. He would only drop Peter once medical help arrived. Until then, the least he could do was hold his kid after everything the boy had gone through.

A few moments before Cho finally arrived with her team, Peter turned his head in order to stare at Tony with a question in his eyes. He was shivering constantly now, lower lip quivering and goosebumps running all over his pale skin.

“Mr. Stark?”, he asked, voice a bit firmer than it had been in the past hours, but still hesitant and weak. “D-Did you borrow my f-foot?”

Tony frowned at this, turning his head to look at Peter’s injured leg. Rhodes had removed Peter’s shoe from the askew foot in order to aid some blood flow into it, but the limb looked overly pale, as if it was receiving no blood at all. Rhodes shared a wary look with Tony at the boy’s words, but said nothing.

“No, kid”, Tony said, trying to sound as honest as possible. “Your foot’s right where it’s supposed to be”.

“G-Good”, Peter nodded to himself, serious. “D-Don’t wanna lose it”.

“You’re not losing it”, Tony reassured, only hoping that his words didn’t turn out to be a lie. “Your foot is ok. Don’t worry about it”.

“Ok”, Peter sighed, closing his eyes again and sounding half-asleep. “T-Thanks, Tony. I really like you”.

Tony swallowed past the lump in his throat, not daring to look at Rhodes.

“I really like you too, squirt”, he said, pretending his voice didn’t sound choked.

Cho arrived minutes after that through a helicopter, her medical team rushing towards Tony and Peter and starting to check the kid out so that they could begin first aid. One of the paramedics attempted to remove Peter from Tony’s grasp in order to lie him down on the floor, but the billionaire kept his arms around the boy protectively, unwilling to let him go. Peter had opened his eyes at the commotion, looking around in disoriented confusion.

“W-What’s going on?”, he asked, tilting his head to look at Tony with determination in his glazed eyes. “W-We under attack?”

“No, bud”, Tony shook his head slightly. “They’re doctors. They’re here to help”.

The response only made Peter frown in even more confusion and worry.

“You h-hurt?”, he asked, concerned. Tony sighed heavily, chest tight.

“No. I’m ok. _You’re_ the one who’s hurt, remember? You’re in a pretty bad shape”, he explained patiently for what felt like the hundredth time. Peter blinked blankly at him before frowning again.

“I’ll b-be fine”, he reassured Tony, sounding confident despite of the weakness of his voice. “I’m t-tough”.

“I know you are, kid”, Tony said honestly. Peter really _was_ tough. He had endured three days of starvation, pain, and torture; he had suffered a compound fracture and severe hypothermia, and he was still fighting sleep. He was still worrying about Tony and May; he was still… holding up. Tony was pretty sure that 99% of the people he knew would have given up and succumbed to sleep a long time ago. But not Peter. Because Peter was really, really tough, and Tony was really, really proud of him. He smiled gently at the kid, who was still cradled in his arms while the paramedics checked him out. Tony was vaguely aware of Rhodes telling Cho and her team about Peter’s many injuries somewhere in the background. “Hey. Spider-Man”, Tony called Peter’s attention when the boy’s unfocused eyes began to droop closed again. Peter tilted his head towards him, half-conscious. “I’m really proud of you”, Tony said with as much sincerity as he could muster. “You’re the toughest person I know”.

Peter frowned slightly at him, blinking several times.

“Even t-tougher than y-you?”, he asked, hesitant.

“ _Definitely_  tougher than me”, Tony chuckled, squeezing Peter’s shoulder. “Which is not something I can usually say about anyone. You’re a special kid. But then again, of course you are, otherwise I wouldn’t have chosen you. My taste is just that good”, he said, making Peter give him a tiny, tentative laugh. “You should be proud of yourself”, he added, shrugging and offering Peter a smug smirk. Peter mustered a tiny smile at him.

“T-Thanks, dad”, he said sleepily, closing his eyes and allowing his head to loll against Tony’s shoulder as he fell back asleep. Tony’s smile disappeared slowly from his face to give place to an expression of guilt and grief. He continued to hold Peter close.

He would miss the kid.

Before he could begin to drown himself into these miserable thoughts, Peter jolted in his grasp, letting out a muffled cry of pain and fear. Tony, immediately alert, noticed that Cho was removing the jacket from Peter’s leg, an apologetic but determined look on her face. Tony tightened his hold around Peter’s torso, holding him down, but gave Cho a reproachful glare.

“Sorry, Tony”, she said, even though she didn’t sound sorry at all. “I need to take a look at the leg. Usually fracture reduction is not the immediate concern with this kind of injury, but I don’t like the way his foot is looking”, she explained. “Hold him down. I’ll be as quick as I can”, she instructed, already turning her attention to the boy’s leg.

Peter withered and gasped in pain in Tony’s grasp, weakly attempting to free himself from the billionaire’s arms as Cho and two other paramedics inspected the injury. Tony continued to carefully hold him, tightening his grip just enough so that Peter wouldn’t be able to escape. The boy whimpered and hissed all the while, grabbing Tony’s arms and squeezing painfully. His fingers would surely leave prints.

“Can you feel that?”, Cho asked Peter, pinching his toe. Peter stared at her with wide, pain-glazed eyes, a sheen of cold sweat making his forehead glisten.

“F-Feel w-what?”, he asked weakly, voice hoarse and tight. Cho worried at her lower lip, looking at Tony with a warning in her eyes. Tony could feel himself grow pale.

“I’m going to try to make it simple for you, even though you’re a genius and all that”, she said carefully, almost ominously. “We’re going to need to reset the bone now, or we could face the need for amputation. I’m going to give him morphine, but I doubt that will do much, since his metabolism will probably just burn through it. You need to hold him down as tight as you can. This will hurt. A lot”, she explained with brutal honesty. Tony swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“Is there any other way?”, Tony asked hesitantly, hating the thought of holding a struggling, screaming Peter without being able to do anything to ease his pain.

“Not without risking losing his foot”, Cho explained. “Usually resetting the bone is not the first priority with a compound fracture, but the wound is already becoming infected and too many blood vessels are obstructed by the bone. We could wait until we’re back at the compound to reset it, but I’ve already lost the pulse to his foot”.

“So you’re saying –“, Tony trailed off, starting to panic.

“If I do it now, we won’t have to amputate it. If we wait until we get back… I can’t promise anything”, Cho said simply, looking serious. Peter was alternating between staring at Cho and trying to follow her words, and staring at Tony as if waiting for his response, all the while bearing wide, terrified eyes.

“M-Mr. Stark?”, he asked hesitantly, a pleading hidden in his frightened tone. A paramedic approached him and pinched his forearm with a syringe, pumping morphine into his system. Peter turned his head abruptly to look at the paramedic, trying to pull back, but Tony held him in place.

“Shh, it’s ok, Pete. Just stay still, ok?”, Tony asked, taking one hand to Peter’s hair and ruffling it in an attempt to ease the boy down. Cho and the two paramedics began to position themselves to reset the bone.

“M-Mr. Stark”, Peter continued, voice tight and body writhing against Tony’s hold. “I d-don’t – I don’t w-want them to touch it, p-please –“, he said, desperation evident in his tone. Tony held him tighter, in a way that prevented Peter from moving too much.

“I know, kid”, Tony said, blinking back tears and anxiety. “I know it hurts. But it’s like ripping a band-aid off, ok? The fastest you do it, the less it hurts. Just let them do it and it will be over soon”.

Cho touched a hand to Peter’s ankle as if to hold it in place, and the boy immediately jostled, struggling against Tony’s arms.

“ _Not like band-aid, not like band-aid, not like band-aid_ ”, he was protesting, voice high-pitched and frantic with pain as he tried to free himself. Rhodes kneeled beside Tony in order to help him hold Peter down, taking a hand to the boy’s shoulder.

“Peter, you have to calm down”, Rhodes tried to instruct, but Peter couldn’t take his wide eyes away from Cho, tears already escaping them and face growing even more pale.

“Please, please, don’t, it hurts,  _it hurts_ ”, he protested miserably, never ceasing to struggle against Tony, who was becoming more desperate and anxious with each of Peter’s words. He looked like he was about to be sick.

“Rhodes”, Tony called, voice low and hoarse. “ _Rhodes_. Help me keep him down. For god’s sake,  _hold him down_ ”, he begged, voice breaking. Peter was making desperate pained noises that made him sound like a wounded animal, breaking into frantic sobs that broke Tony’s heart all over again. Rhodes pressed on Peter’s shoulders, trying to keep him still.

“Mr. Stark”, Peter began to say in between desperate sobs, wriggling and trashing against Tony’s arms. His voice was loud and high-pitched, desperation evident in his tone and struggles. “Mr. Stark, please. Tony, p-please! Please, d-don’t let them, please,  _please_ , Mr. Stark, please, don’t let them, it hurts,  _it hurts_ , please, Tony, please don’t let them, don’t, don’t, _don’t_ , dad, don’t let them, please, don’t, it hurts, Mr. Stark,  _please_!”

“Pete, you gotta stay down”, Tony was crying, not letting his grasp on Peter falter. He didn’t think he had ever felt so bad in his entire life, having to hold a crying, sobbing Peter in his arms as he was consumed by pain. “Pete. You gotta stay _down_. It will be over soon. I swear, I swear to you. It’s going to be over soon. Just stay down”.

“Three”, Cho announced, beginning her countdown. Her hold on Peter’s leg was firm.

“Please, please, don’t, don’t, please, Tony, it hurts, please, don’t, don’t do it, Tony – Tony!  _Tony_! Please!”, Peter begged, trashing desperately.

“Two”, Cho continued.

“Peter, it’s going to be fine. Look at me, Peter”, Rhodes tried to call his attention, holding the boy’s shoulders, but he continued to struggle.

“Pete.  _Pete_ ”, Tony said. “I’m here with you. It will be over soon. Do you trust me?”

“Please, Mr. Stark, please, it hurts too much, I trust you but it hurts, it hurts,  _it hurts_!”, he sobbed loudly, tears and snot running down his face.

“Peter, look at me”, Tony instructed, voice hoarse from tears. Peter turned his head to look at him obediently, eyes wide and painted with pain and fear. “I’m here. It’s ok. It’s  _ok_ ”, he said, at the same time Cho announced:

“One”.

The sickening crack Peter’s leg bone made as it was shoved back into place made Tony gag, but the sound would never be comparable to Peter’s animalistic scream. The scream was so utterly feral and piercing that Tony was sure that he wouldn’t be able to forget it, not even if he tried for a million years. The sound of Peter’s pain embedded itself in his brain, and the boy trashed and shook in his hold as he threw his head back and  _screamed_ , non-stop and for what felt like an eternity. Tony continued to hold him down, grasp tight, but as soon as Peter’s body went limp, he let go, shaking too hard to be able to support his weight anymore.

Rhodes gently removed Peter from Tony’s trembling arms and laid the unconscious boy down on the floor, minding his leg and running a finger across his sweaty forehead in order to remove the stray strands of hair that had fallen there. Tony was still trembling violently, almost convulsively, his face greyish and looking like he was about to be sick. Still, he crawled his way towards Peter’s lying form while Cho and her team continued to tend to him, taking a hand to the boy’s hair in order to ruffle it, even though he wasn’t sure Peter would be able to feel it. Still, Tony knew Peter loved it when he ruffled his hair like that. So he would do it. It was the _least_ he could do.

However, to Tony’s surprise, Peter blinked his unfocused, glassy eyes open at the touch, staring at him with confusion and pain for several seconds until his eyes finally sparkled with feverish recognition. Tony looked at Peter with attention, one hand holding his shoulder and the other cradling his head.

“M-Mr. Stark?”, Peter asked, voice hoarse from screaming and weak from the pain.

“Yeah, kid, I’m here”, Tony reassured, barely able to keep his own voice from shaking. “It’s over now. Didn't I tell you it'd be over soon?”, he asked with a small smirk of relief that Peter was awake. However, the feeling didn't last for long. Peter frowned at him.

“I… I think…” Peter swallowed dry, struggling to speak. He was shaking from pain and cold, even though his forehead was still sweating. He looked confused and more disoriented than before, pupils dilated; eyes glassy and unfocused. “I think m-my leg’s... broken...”, he said.

Then his head lolled lifelessly to the side, lips parted, and he stared off at the distance with an unfocused gaze for a moment, before his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he passed out for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably tell, I have no medical training whatsoever, so there may be mistakes in this chapter. What can I say? The need for angst speaks louder. If you notice anything too off, though, talk to me and I will try to edit it to make it more realistic. But keep in mind that this is a fanfiction!  
> Also, extra kudos for those of you who get the (painful) Agents of SHIELD reference.


	8. Chapter 8

When Peter first woke up, his world consisted of nothing other than pain.

It took him a long time to be able to open his eyes, but when he did, everything was blurry and out of focus. It felt, to him, as if he was gazing at reality through a really, really dirty glass, thick and heavy and detaching him from everything that could possibly matter. He became aware of struggling against someone, but he couldn’t make out a face or understand what the far away voices were saying. They sounded like they were coming from underwater – or maybe through the thick, dirty glass that seemed to be enveloping him –, and Peter would have thought he was dreaming, had it not been for the pain.

His leg felt like it was on fire, a hellish, vengeful fire that was scorching and burning, burning, burning through him without mercy even though he could hear himself whimper and cry out for mercy. He tried to free himself from the grasp of whoever was holding him down, flailing his arms desperately in a week attempt to break lose and feeling the faint, distant sensation of his closed fist connecting with something hard and warm. Then something – or someone, he couldn’t really tell – pinned him down and the pain on his leg became too unbearable, too all-consuming for him to stay awake.

 

 

 

 

 

When Peter woke up for the second time, he was more or less aware of his surroundings.

The pain on his leg wasn’t as bad as he remembered it being before. The all-consuming, burning pain had been replaced by a constant, uncomfortable throbbing that hurt, but not unbearably so. He blinked his eyes open and heard a familiar voice call his name, but couldn’t, for the life of him, focus his glassy gaze on the face looming right above him. He opened his mouth to try to speak but his tongue felt like cotton and his throat was as dry as a desert, so stayed like that, mouth hanging open uselessly and unfocused eyes searching the blurry, unrecognizable face in front of him. It was only when a violent shiver wracked through his whole body that he realized how absolutely cold he was.

He tried to shrink into himself to preserve warmth, and the action felt more like muscle memory than anything else. Then he remembered. He was stuck in the freezer. They had said Mr. Stark was coming for him, but Mr. Stark was nowhere around and the freezer was cold and dark and lonely. He shivered again, breathing heavily as he attempted to keep warm and failed. He needed to preserve body warmth, or he would become hypothermic. He needed to prevent his warmth from seeping to the freezing walls of the freezer. He meekly tried to tuck his arms into his shirt through the sleeves, but found his limbs too heavy and unresponsive to do so. Was he frozen already? The person above him was saying something, but Peter’s brain couldn’t make sense of the words. They sounded like white noise to him. He continued to attempt to tuck his arms in, writhing weakly and shuffling as he did so. He needed to stay warm. He needed to stay alive until Mr. Stark arrived to get him out.

“Kid, listen to me for once in your life, _stay still_ , you’re going to hurt yourself”, Peter thought the person beside him said. Only then he became aware that the reason why he was failing to keep himself warm was because there were arms pinning him down.

“G-Gotta k-keep warm”, Peter found the strength to protest with an annoyance that didn’t quite meet his voice, which was terrifyingly raspy and hoarse. Why was this person holding his arms? Did they want him to freeze? “Mr. Stark’s c-coming to g-get me. I gotta k-keep warm. He’s gonna f-find me”. He tried to shrug the touch away, but failed.

“You _are_ warm, Pete”, the person said. If Peter had been more conscious, he would have noticed the deep concern in the voice. “In fact, you’re burning up with fever. So just stay still and don’t do anything stupid, ok? You’re going to disrupt your leg”.

“No”, Peter protested, not quite understanding. Whoever it was holding him down – speaking to him – was saying too many words for his sluggish, anxious brain to keep up with. “Stop. I g-gotta keep warm. First s-step to p-prevent hypothermia is – is –“

“You’re no longer in the freezer, squirt”, the voice above him said, uncharacteristically gentle. Peter didn’t know how he remembered that it wasn’t characteristic for that voice to be that gentle, but he just… knew. He frowned. “You don’t have to worry about hypothermia anymore. I got you out, remember?”

Peter’s frown deepened at this. He was no longer in the freezer? Then why the hell was it so cold? He squinted his eyes, trying to figure out who it was talking to him. It took him a while, but his glazed fever-hazed eyes finally regained enough focus to make out a goatee and concerned eyes.

“M-Mr. Stark?”, he asked, confused. Had Mr. Stark found him? When had that happened? Tony sighed as if he was unwilling to deal with this type of situation.

“Yeah, kid. For the hundredth time, it’s me”, he said tiredly. Peter swallowed dry, throat raspy and brain feeling like cotton.

“I’m… no longer in the f-freezer?”, he asked hesitantly, uncertain. He couldn’t remember getting out. He couldn’t remember anything.

“No”, Tony reassured, finally letting go of Peter but allowing a hand to linger at the boy’s shoulder as if to keep him calm. “You’re safe. You’re in the med bay”.

Peter blinked at Tony’s blurry face for a while, struggling to comprehend what he was saying. When his brain finally managed to put some meaning into the words, he frowned.

“I’m…”, he struggled to muster the words, finding it hard to concentrate. “I’m cold”.

He thought Tony gave him some sort of response to that, but he passed out before he could make sense of the words.

 

 

 

 

 

“… -rely makes any sense. He’s been in and out for hours now, his sleep is troubled and we think he may be struggling with nightmares. We can’t give him anymore morphine without risking an overdose, and his body just burns through most of the medicine we’ve been pumping him with. He definitely should be resting so that his super-healing can kick in, but it doesn’t seem that he can. He only seems to sleep calmly when you’re around”.

Pause.

“I can’t be around him. Not anymore. And you know why”.

A sigh.

“I know we’re not that close, but I have to be honest with you. You’re being a moron”.

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“You’re being a selfish, stupid moron. You think you’ll be helping him like this? Stepping away, when he needs you the most? Getting out of his life after such a traumatic experience? He _needs_ you, Tony. Now, more than ever. Stepping away will do more harm than good. Stay, at least until he recovers”.

“I…”, another sigh. “I can’t”.

“I don’t care what his aunt says. You need to stay. For him”.

“She’s his legal guardian. If she doesn’t want me around him, then I can’t be around him. I’m… I’m not his family.”.

“Yes, you _are_. And she said that to you days ago, when you hadn’t found him yet. When she was overtaken by shock and pain and anger and all sorts of emotions that make people say stupid things in the heat of the moment. I’m sure she’ll change her mind in the moment she sees the positive effect you have on his recovery”.

Another pause. Longer.

“How can you even be sure that _I’m_ the one responsible for him calming down? It could be another factor. _Any_ other factor. There’s no reason for him to… to feel calmer around me. I don’t even do anything other than sit by his bedside and stare at the wall”.

“He feels safe around you. You saved his life”.

A self-depreciative scoff.

“Yeah. I also held him down while he screamed and sobbed and begged for me to stop. And then I let him get hurt”.

“You know very well that resetting the leg was a necessity. We would have needed to do it anyway, whether it was back there or here. At least you were there with him when we did. At least he had someone familiar by his side”.

A creak. Footsteps. Shuffling.

“Hey. How’s he holding up?”

“He’s been in and out. He’s asleep right now”.

A hum.

“Has the fever gone down yet?”

“No”.

“No. But I am positive that when he’s strong enough for his enhanced metabolism to kick in, it will go down quickly. He just needs to rest enough for that to happen”.

“Ok…? Why are you two looking like that, then?”

“He’s been having trouble sleeping. He’s tense and anxious and only seems to calm down when Tony is around. However, _Mr. Stark_ refuses to stay by his side for too long”.

Another pause. Tenser.

“I’ll talk some sense into him”.

A sigh.

“Rhodes –“

“Dr. Cho, can you give us a moment?”

“Of course, colonel. I will be back soon to check on Peter”.

Footsteps. The click of a door. Silence.

More silence.

“Tony”.

“Don’t”.

“Tones”.

“ _Don’t_ , Rhodes”.

“You’re being stupid. And you’re not stupid. So _stop_ acting stupid”.

“You know why I can’t… be near him”.

“Because you’re a dumb asshole with a guilt complex? Yeah, we all know that. But he needs you, Tones”.

“Cho is making things up. He doesn’t feel _safer_ around me. There’s no way he does”.

“Of course there is. He admires you. You saved his life, Tony”.

“I’m the reason he got in this whole mess in the first place!”

Pause.

“Saving his life was the least I could do after he got kidnapped because of me”.

“He wasn’t kidnapped because of you. He was kidnapped because of Toomes, and Gargan, and everyone that worked for them. They are the only ones to blame for this”.

Peter shivered at the mention of the names.

“Yeah, but none of that would have happened if I hadn’t gotten close to the kid”.

“Stop blaming yourself for things that aren’t your fault, Tony, for god’s sake. It’s killing you”.

“It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s Peter”.

“We all are. Self-pity isn’t going to help him right now. Staying with him is. You told me you promised him you’d never give up on him”.

“You think I’m giving up on him?”

“From the sound of it, it seems that you are”.

Another scoff.

“I’d never give up on him, Rhodes. I’m just… letting him go”.

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“No, because I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing this for _him_. I can’t be around him anymore. I can’t let something like… _this_ – happen ever again”.

“That’s a stupid decision. You know Peter better than I do. You know the kid’s a trouble magnet. He’ll get himself into danger again, whether you’re in his life or not. And honestly, I think we can both agree it’s better if you _are_ in his life to keep his ass out of trouble”.

“ _I’m_ the trouble magnet, Rhodey”, a sniff. “Don’t you see? Everyone I care about gets hurt. I shouldn’t have let him in in the first place”.

A pregnant pause. Gentleness.

“That’s not true, Tones. Don’t say that”.

“Yes, it is”.

“No, it’s not –“

“ _Yes_ , it is. You, Pep, Happy, and now Peter… you all could have died, and it would have been on me”.

“No, it wouldn’t. You’re not responsible for us, Tony. We knew what we were getting into”.

“Did Happy know that he would get blown half to death while following an apparently harmless guy I told him to go after? Did Pepper know she’d fall to her death because a bad guy wanted to get to me through hurting her? Did _you_ know you’d be paralyzed from the waist down because the stupid robot I accidentally created was distracted? Did _Peter_ know he would get kidnapped and tortured and almost die because I let him get close to me?”, a shaky breath. “None of you knew any of that. _None_ of you signed up for any of that. And at the end of the day, the pain you feel is on my bill”.

A scoff.

“So the solution is shutting yourself from us?”

“If that’s necessary, yes. I’m putting a target in your heads by just standing beside you”.

“And we get no say in that decision?”

“Rhodey –“

“No, you gotta get the stick out of your butt and _listen to me_ , Tones”, a huff. “You don’t get to _choose_ that. You don’t get to shut us out. You don’t get to _walk out_ of our lives because you _think_ you’re putting us in danger. _We_ are the ones who get to decide that”.

“No –“

“ _Yes_. And I’m sure I speak for all of us – for Pepper, and Hap, and especially for Peter – when I tell you that being close to you is a privilege, _not_ an occupational hazard. You’re important to us, Tony. We care about you, just as much as you care about us. Shutting any of your friends out like that – like you want to do with Peter – that’s not cool, man. You’re taking away his right to choose”.

“He’s a _kid_. He wouldn’t _know_ how to choose. He’d choose to be around me despite of the danger, despite of the death looming above his head, because he’s a _fanboy_ , and he looks up to me for whatever reason, and he doesn’t _know better. I do._ And I say he can’t be around me”.

A disbelieving, annoyed scoff.

“You sounded just like your dad”.

A pause. No breathing.

Silence.

“Tony, c’mon, you know I didn’t mean it like _that_ –“

“Wow”.

“Seriously? C’mon, Tones, you know I didn’t mean it. Not like that. You know I’d never think that”.

“Save it, Rhodes”.

“Tony. Look at me, just –“, a frustrated groan. Another pause. “Tones. You’re _nothing_ like your father, ok? Nothing. I didn’t mean it like that, it came out wrong and you know it. I’d never be that cruel”.

“What I _know_ is that I can’t be near Peter”, a scoff. “Especially if I’m _anything_ like Howard”.

“You _aren’t_ ”, a pleading. “ _You aren’t_ , Tones _._ I’m just trying to make you see that leaving Peter isn’t the best option. The kid needs you. He’s been through hell and back; he _needs_ you right now”.

A sigh.

“Even if I could stay – May doesn’t want me near him anymore. She’s… She raised him, she’s his guardian. I can’t go against her will”.

“Have you spoken to May after that day when you went to her house?”

“No, Rhodes, but –“

“Then you don’t know if her opinion still stands. She was upset. Everyone says things they don’t mean when they’re upset”.

Another sigh. Tired. Regretful.

“I don’t know”.

“I do. God knows your head is too thick for even me to get through it – but talk to her. Really, Tony, before you do anything, _talk_ to her. She knows you saved Peter’s life. She knows what you’ve done for him. She won’t forbid you from seeing him again if you just speak to her”.

“She should, though”.

A huff of breath.

“You’re really going to keep blaming yourself for this, aren’t you?”

“It was _my_ fault. Believing it was or not doesn’t change it”.

“If it’s any consolation – no one thinks you are to blame but yourself. I’m sure as hell Peter doesn’t, either”.

A tired scoff.

“Yeah. Kid’s too good for that”.

A long pause. Shuffling. Creaking. A door closing. Footsteps. Maybe not in that particular order, but it was hard keeping up with those kind of details when Peter’s brain was boiling with high fever. Breathing. Sighing. A hand gently touching his head and caressing it in an almost paternal way. Calmness. Peace. Sleepiness.

“I don’t deserve him”.

Peter couldn’t remember anything about the conversation he had just heard as slumber overcame him once again.

 

 

 

 

 

Cold. It was so cold.

“Hngh”, he groaned as he tried – and failed – to turn on his side. He needed to keep warm. He needed to escape. He needed to defeat Gargan.

Someone held his shoulder. He flinched.

“No”, he protested weakly, trying to wriggle away from Gargan and his knife and his gun and his wicked, sadistic smile. He was going to kill Peter and hurt Aunt May and then he would hurt Tony and Peter couldn’t have that. He needed to get away.

“It’s fine”, Tony said. He liked Tony. Tony was strong and powerful and smart. Tony could keep him safe. Unless Gargan harmed him. Peter couldn’t let that happen. “You’re fine. I’m just making sure you’re warm. Don't make a big deal out of this, it's just you looked cold and I didn't want you to file a complaint about my hospitality once you're feeling better”, he added, a bit too defensively.

“Warm”, Peter sighed dumbly, relaxing. He liked warm. Warm was good. He was so cold. So cold. Tony tucked some kind of fabric around him and placed something wet and cold on his forehead. He shivered and opened his feverish eyes. Tony offered him a small smile.

“Hey, squirt. You with me?”, he asked. Peter blinked at him.

“You safe?”, he croaked out, voice slurred from fever and hoarse from the lack of use.

“Yes, Peter, I’m safe. May’s safe, too. And so are you. Just rest, alright?”, Tony smiled again, but there was something wrong about it. Peter didn’t know that smiles could look so sad.

“You sure?”, Peter frowned. He needed to be sure. He couldn’t risk Tony getting hurt. Or May. He needed to be _sure_.

“I’m sure”, Tony ruffled his hair in the way he knew Peter loved. Peter sighed contently, subconsciously tilting his head towards Tony’s hand. “You have nothing to worry about”.

“Ok, thanks”, he mumbled, closing his eyes again and falling asleep in a few seconds.

 

 

 

 

 

“His temp isn’t coming down”, Cho said.

“Then do something about it”, was Tony’s stressful reply. Peter blinked his eyes open, struggling to focus for a few seconds before he managed to spot the billionaire and the doctor standing by the foot of his bed. His leg was suspended midair, covered by metal and pins and a casket. Peter frowned.

“I’m doing everything I can, but until he gets strong enough to heal himself, my hands are tied”, Cho pointed out, shaking her head apologetically. “Nothing I give him seems to have any effect. All I can do is give him morphine for his leg, and I can’t even be sure of the extension of the effect of that. His leg has been displaying a significant improvement and I think it’s safe to say it will be healed at least three times faster than a regular human’s. If we can get him awake for long enough to make him eat something, then it’s possible that recovery will be even faster. My team and I have been researching as much as we can about his biology in the little time we’ve had, but we still don’t know what to do about the infection. Theoretically, he shouldn’t even have a fever – his metabolism should have taken care of that. It isn’t coming from the leg or the wrists, which is fully healed already”.

“Then _where_ is it coming from?”, Tony asked, sounding helpless. Peter didn’t remember ever hearing Tony sound helpless before, but there was a lot he wasn’t remembering on that moment.

“Our best guess”, Cho said after a pregnant pause, sounding cautious. As if she didn’t want to startle Tony with what she was about to tell him. “Is that Gargan, somehow… poisoned him”.

“ _Poison_?!”, Tony repeated, horrified and taken aback.

“Well, ‘poison’ wouldn’t be the most correct term in this case. You said people knew Gargan as the Scorpion, right?”, Cho asked.

“Yes, a lot of people called him that”, Tony nodded. Cho mimicked him.

“Well, scorpions secrete venom. I believe it’s possible he managed to inject venom into Peter somehow when they fought each other. His metabolism, even if weakened, has been preventing the venom from killing him, but his body hasn’t quite figured out how to get it out of his system yet. But that, of course, is just a theory”.

“And if the theory is correct?”, Tony asked, anticipation flooding his tone.

“Then we need to apply the correct antivenom as soon as possible. But for that, we would need to know what specific type of venom was used on Peter”, Cho explained.

“I’ll have Gargan’s body and belongings searched right away for it”, Tony replied, tapping a number on his phone and placing the device against his ear as he walked towards the door of the room. “You work on finding out a way to bring his temp down”.

“We’re already doing everything we can”, Cho pointed out. “But until we can apply the antivenom, there’s not much I can do but keep him as comfortable as possible”.

There was some shuffling, and gentle small hands touching Peter’s shoulders and forehead. He shivered, blinking his eyes back open. He didn’t really remember closing them. He had something important to say, but couldn’t quite remember what it was, either. His brain felt like soup. Cho didn’t seem surprised to see him awake, and started to place something wet and freezing on his forehead and neck. Maybe the cold would help making his brain return to a solid, functional state.

“H-Hey”, Peter croaked out weakly. His lips felt dry and chapped, but the thought of drinking water made nausea blossom in his stomach and throat.

“Hi, Peter. How are you feeling?”, Dr. Cho asked patiently, never ceasing her ministrations and dabbing Peter’s face with a wet cloth.

“… Bad?”, Peter tried, his head swimming and his tongue feeling like cotton.

“That is understandable. We are working on making you feel better, all right?”, she said reassuringly.

“Thanks”, Peter sighed, closing his eyes again. Dr. Cho’s hands were small and cozy. They were gentle and even though he was freezing, they made him feel safe. He was on the verge of sleeping again when something urgent sparkled in his mind, like a red alert, and he reopened his eyes with a jolt and a gasp. The sudden movement startled Dr. Cho, but she placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder and pushed him back down against the mattress before he could hurt himself.

“Shh, it’s ok, Peter. You’re safe, ok? Just rest, now. Tony will be back in a moment”, she reassured, assuming that Peter would ask about Tony’s safety for the hundredth time in the course of the past day. The boy kept coming in and out of consciousness ever since he was brought back, never remembering the answers to the questions he had already made.

“I… I have t’ tell you som’thing”, Peter said, struggling to make his sluggish tongue articulate the words. Cho watched him with close attention, looking like she was trying to figure out whether Peter was ranting due his fever delusion again or if he actually had meaningful information to share.

“What is it?”, Cho asked, a firm and patient look in her eyes. Peter stared at her, mouth hanging open and cheeks flushed with fever, eyes glassy and dull. He looked lost and confused, breathing heavily and wetly as he tried to find the words he wanted to use.

“I… I…”, Peter swallowed dry. He needed to tell her something. It was important. But he couldn’t remember what it was for the life of him. After a few seconds of silence, Cho’s expression softened and she gave him a sympathetic smile.

“It’s ok”, she nodded, squeezing his shoulder and assuming this was just another one of Peter’s fever-delusions. “You can tell me later, ok?”

Peter huffed out an annoyed breath, feeling frustrated.

“No”, he protested, throwing his head back against the mattress and trying to think. Cho had said something that made him remember an important detail, but he couldn’t recall what it was, now. “It’s important”, he groaned miserably, hating the way he felt sick and confused.

“I’m sure it is”, she smiled again, patronizing. Peter huffed out another breath.

“No, y-you don’ get it”, he slurred, writhing on the bed. He mustered the little strength he had to grab Cho’s wrist and squeeze it, as if trying to emphasize his point. “I gotta tell you. Gotta tell Mr. Stark”, he tried to explain, desperate and weak.

“Tony will be back soon, Peter, you don’t have to worry about him”, Cho told him, missing his point completely. “He is safe, and so are you”, she gently undid Peter’s slack grasp to her wrists and placed his hand back down on the mattress before returning to the task of cooling his face down.

“No”, Peter groaned again, squeezing his eyes shut. If only there was no fever to make his brain so slow and dumb…

Wait. That was it! The fever! That was what he was trying to say!

He reopened his eyes and searched Cho’s face, a renewed determination sparkling on his flushed face.

“The fever”, he croaked out, trying to explain. He _needed_ to explain. He swallowed dry again and breathed heavily, feeling the throbbing to his leg and a burning sensation on his side. Everything hurt, but he needed to keep going. “He shot me”, he added, hoping Cho would understand.

Dr. Cho blinked her eyes at him for a few seconds, trying to follow his train of thought.

“Yes, Peter, we already checked that and bandaged it up. It was superficial, you have nothing to worry about, all right?”, she said, sounding gentle and comprehensive. Peter sighed, displeased.

“He shot me”, Peter said again, desperate to be understood. She _needed_ to understand. He needed to explain, but couldn’t find the words or the energy to do so. The room was swimming around him and he felt nauseous. “He shot me”, he mustered again, voice small and barely audible. His head fell back limply against the pillow and he breathed heavily. “He shot me. He shot me…”

Then her eyes widened in realization.

“You think that it was the _bullet_ coated in venom?”, she asked. Peter nodded vehemently, relief flooding through his exhausted body, but Cho was no longer paying attention to him. She yanked the covers from the top of Peter, who shivered in response to the sudden cold, but sucked in a deep, shocked lungful of breath as she found the bandage covering Peter’s torso soaked through with a nauseating brown substance.

At that same moment, Tony walked back into the room.

“They’re searching through Gargan’s weapons and should have a response any – oh my god, what _happened_?”, his eyes widened as soon as he noticed the gruesome bandage covering Peter’s side. The billionaire’s face paled immediately and he looked horrified, his eyes meeting Peter’s for a spare moment as he searched the boy’s face for something that Peter couldn’t quite understand.

“It was the bullet”, Cho said, already removing the bandage from around Peter’s torso only to reveal puffy red skin coated in coagulated blood and pus. “The wound was superficial, so I took care of it and bandaged it up without thinking too much about it. His leg and the hypothermia were my primary concerns”, she explained without looking up at Tony, concentrated on her job. “But in the hours since Peter arrived, it’s gotten worse. The venom was in the bullet. Thankfully, it just grazed him. If it had lodged into him, he would most probably be dead already”, she said, trying to clean the wound the best way she could. “I need the bullets from Gargan’s gun to produce the antivenom. Now”, she instructed urgently. Peter hissed and groaned in pain as Dr. Cho touched his infected bullet graze wound, but was too exhausted to try to move away from the woman.

“I’ll get it here”, Tony promptly said, fishing his phone again. Peter watched him through a half-lidded glassy gaze, already feeling sleepy again. “Hello?”, Tony said as whoever he was calling picked up the phone. “Yeah, it’s me, the venom is in the bullet. Bring me his gun; we need it now. No, I mean _now_. Yes, make a run for it. _Yes_. Just do it”, he instructed, and then hung up, placing the phone back into his pocket.

“Mr. Stark?”, Peter called, voice raspy and weak. He was fighting sleep at this point, lids half-parted, but he tilted his head towards the billionaire anyway. Staying awake for so long and having Cho meddling with the painful, burning injury on his side had sent him back into a half-awake state tending towards slumber. Tony approached him, an anxious look on his face.

“Yeah, kiddo, I’m here”, Tony reassured him, voice lacking its usual confidence.

“Did… D-Did I do good?”, Peter asked hesitantly. Tony gave Cho a quick questioning glance, not quite understanding what Peter meant.

“He’s the one who figured it out”, Cho explained, still tending to Peter’s infection the best way she could in the time being. “About the bullet and the venom”.

Tony turned his head back towards Peter, an unbearably proud look overcoming his sad eyes. He looked like he couldn’t quite believe Peter had figured such an important detail out while his brain boiled from fever.

“Yeah, kid, you did _amazing_. You’re really smart, did you know that, squirt?”, he complimented, giving Peter a tiny smile that seemed a bit more genuine. “I don’t say that often enough because I don’t want it to get over your head, but… you really are something else”.

“Ok”, Peter sighed in relief, eyes closing and a small smile blossoming in his tired lips. “Thank you. Glad to help”.

“Just rest, Pete. You’re going to be fine, now. Dr. Cho is going to take care of you”, Tony nodded. Peter reopened his eyes at this, frowning at Tony and blinking feverishly at him. Something about that statement felt off and triggered something in Peter’s brain, even though the boy didn’t really know what it was in a conscious level.

“Not you?”, he slurred. Tony’s face paled a bit, but remained neutral as he looked away.

“Don’t worry about that just now”, he said simply, not meeting Peter’s eyes.

“No”, Peter protested, mustering the last of his energy to raise his hand slightly and cling to the hem of Tony’s shirt. “Don’ wan’ you to leave”. He wasn’t conscious enough to care about being childish or clingy by holding Tony’s shirt – he just didn’t want Tony to go away. He didn’t know how he knew that Tony wanted to go away, but he just _knew_.

“Peter”, Tony said, something that sounded like a pleading evident in his voice. His face was stern, but his voice was shaky. “Just go to sleep”.

“Wan’ you to stay”, Peter continued to slur, feeling like the talk with Cho had drained him of all his energies. Still, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that, if he closed his eyes, he wouldn’t see Tony again. He didn’t know where that thought had come from, but it was there, and it was frightening. “Stay”, he mumbled. Tony sighed heavily and closed his eyes.

“I’ll stay with you until you sleep”, Tony reassured. “Don’t worry. No one’s going to hurt you ok? There is security guarding every single door of the bay. No one will get in without me knowing”.

“Tha’s not it”, Peter huffed out. “Wan’ you to stay. You’re import’nt”, he tried to explain past the fever and the sluggishness, but his tongue was refusing to make words. He wasn’t _afraid_ someone would get in and hurt him if Tony didn’t watch his back. He was _afraid_ he would wake up and find Tony was gone. He couldn’t pinpoint the origin of that fear, but it was becoming very intense.

“You’re important, too, squirt”, Tony said, sounding emotional and looking older than Peter ever remembered seeing him. Tony ruffled his hair in that special way Peter loved and finally met his eyes again, something akin to an apology sparkling inside them. “Just relax and go to sleep. I’m here with you”.

“Prom’se?”, Peter asked, serious.

Tony hesitated for a moment, but then looked away from him and nodded silently.

Peter didn’t remember much after that, but he knew it mustn’t have taken too long for him to fall back asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

“It should break in a few hours. Maybe less – I can never be sure, with his metabolism”.

“Good. That’s… good”.

“And… you’re really going?”

“Yeah. I’m sure I’m the last person May wants to see right now. And we’ve kept her waiting long enough”.

“She couldn’t see Peter while he was delirious. It would have been too risky”.

“Yeah, I know”.

“But are you coming back?”

Silence. A scoff.

“I understand”.

“You _do_?”

“I don’t agree, but I understand. Let’s only hope Peter does, too. For his sake”.

More silence.

“Will you keep me updated on him?”

“Of course. You’re the one paying for his treatment, after all”.

A sigh.

“Stop that, Helen”.

“Stop what?”

“Talking to me as if I’m nothing but a costumer”.

“If you walk out of that door and don’t come back to check on Peter yourself, I’m afraid that’s all you’re going to be, Mr. Stark. Someone paying for a service”.

“Since when do you care so much about my relationship with Peter? You didn’t even know him until a few hours ago”.

“I know. But I know _you_ , too. And I know that you don’t want to leave”.

A pause.

“So why are you leaving?”

“Because it’s what I have to do”.

“No, it isn’t. But if not even Rhodes managed to talk some sense into you, then I know better than trying. I’ll keep you updated on his status”.

“Thank you, Dr. Cho”.

“You are welcome, Mr. Stark”.

Footsteps. A sniff. A hand ruffling his hair. The hand lingered for a moment, as if it was trying to tell him goodbye.

 Then it was gone. Peter wanted to say something important, but he was too tired. He could say it later. Tony had promised he would stay, after all.

He could say it later.

 

 

 

 

 

“Hey, darling. Are you awake?”, a familiar, comforting voice said from beside him. Peter blinked his eyes open, staring blankly at the white ceiling above him before tilting his head to the side. His vision was still blurry, but he didn’t need to have his sight in order to recognize the familiar smell of burnt brownies and cheap, sweet perfume that had been accompanying him ever since he was a child. He subconsciously smiled – if May was there, then everything would be ok. He swallowed dry several times before attempting to speak.

“Hi”, he greeted, voice hoarse and raspy from the lack of use. May smiled back at him, eyes red-rimmed and puffy.

“Hi, hon”, he said, reaching towards him and caressing his arm gently. Her hair was disheveled and messy, as if she hadn’t washed it in days, and her face look pale and weary. Peter frowned in concern, remembering Toomes’ and Gargan’s threats. Was May ok? Had they done something to her?

“You alright?”, he asked, voice barely above a whisper. May stared at him in disbelief for a few seconds before breaking into hysterical laughter at his words, startling Peter. Soon, her laughter merged with sobs and Peter could no longer tell if she was happy or sad. Tears made his aunt’s eyes glisten and she shook her head before replying, one hand clinging to his forearm as if to ensure he wouldn’t disappear while she used the other to wipe her tears and nose.

“Oh, Peter”, he half-laughed, half-sobbed, looking at him with love and pain. “Only you would ask me _that_ while lying on a hospital bed. Only you”, she shook her head again in admiration, lowering it for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “Yes, baby, I’m ok. I’ve been worried sick about you and I definitely have more grey hairs now than I had a few days ago, but I’m fine. Now tell me all about you”, she pulled her chair closer to Peter’s bed, watching him with close attention and tucking the covers tighter around him before running her fingers across the stray strands of hair on his forehead. “How are you feeling? Are you in any pain? Do you need anything?”, she asked, concerned.

“I – I…”, Peter started, trying to remember what had happened. The last thing he could recall was fighting Gargan and being stuck inside the freezer, struggling to keep himself warm and to breathe past the pain in his leg, and then… there was nothing.

Well, there wasn’t _nothing_. There were flashes of pain and screaming and crying and Tony, but he couldn’t really make sense of these confusing fragments of memory yet. He decided to leave them for the time being.

He turned his head to look at his leg, which was lying on the bed covered by a simple cast. There were no pins or metal covering it, which he would have expected to see, since he could clearly recall the fracture being compound. The pain in his torso was gone, as well as the burning of his wrists. Peter raised his hands in order to see the ugly scars he was sure the wires must have left behind, only to see the skin of his wrists completely recovered, not a single scratch or mark on them. He blinked in surprise, not quite understanding how that was possible. How long had it been since the freezer?

“Peter, are you alright?”, May asked, worry for Peter’s prolonged silence evident in her voice. Peter turned his head to look at her, arms still lifted midair in front of him. “Would you want me to call someone to check on you?”, she offered, frowning.

Peter hesitated for a few moments. He wasn’t sure where he was, or who had taken him here. If anything, he had been expecting to wake up to find Mr. Stark by his side, along with his aunt. Mr. Stark would probably have all the answers to his questions; questions which he couldn’t ask May such as: what happened to Gargan? Had he told anyone else about Peter’s secret identity? Had Toomes found out about Peter’s escape?

“Where’s – where’s Mr. Stark?”, Peter mustered, feeling embarrassed to ask for the man, especially to May. His aunt’s face was overcome by a sorrowful expression and she averted her eyes from him, looking guilty and regretful.

“I’m calling Dr. Cho to give you a look over”, May smiled at him reassuringly, but it didn’t quite meet her eyes. She stood up from the chair and placed a kiss at the top of Peter’s head in the same way she used to do when he had nightmares as a kid. “You stay in bed and sit tight. I’ll be right back”.

“Ok”, Peter said with suspicion, not really understanding why May hadn’t answered his question. Had something happened to Mr. Stark? Was he ok?

He thought he could remember Tony holding him and trying to keep him awake, but the memory was blurry and confusing and coated in such a strong pain that he shivered. In fact, everything but the now and then felt blurry and confusing, and Peter wanted nothing more than to have his answers. At that moment, it felt like no one other than Mr. Stark could give him that.

There was a shuffling at the door and then a young Asian woman entered the room, a soft smile on her lips and patience in her eyes. Peter thought he could see something else in there too. It looked like an apology, for some reason. The same one from May’s eyes, except it had less guilt accompanying it.

“Hello, Peter. My name is Dr. Helen Cho. I asked your aunt to wait outside for a moment while we talked. Is that ok?”, Dr. Cho asked. Peter nodded, feeling a weird sense of trust for the woman, as if he knew her already. “Good. I assume you have a lot of questions, right?”

“Yes”, Peter immediately nodded. “Where is –“

“We’ll – get to them in a moment”, Dr. Cho interrupted, raising a calming hand at him and smiling softly before checking the machines attached to Peter. She inspected them for a while before turning back towards Peter, looking satisfied with the data on the screens. “First of all, how are you feeling?”, she asked, tilting her head.

Peter hesitated for a moment, thinking. He wasn’t in pain, but there was still a weird feeling at the bottom of his stomach. As if something was wrong, but he couldn’t quite tell what.

“I’m ok, I guess”, he said with uncertainty, frowning. “I… I’m not sure what happened to me”, he admitted, looking up at Cho with wary eyes. He felt like he could trust her, but he still didn’t know if she knew about… his secret identity. He couldn’t risk revealing himself for the woman like that.

He needed to see Mr. Stark. He was the only person Peter could trust without question or hesitation.

“That’s ok”, Dr. Cho reassured him, sitting at the edge of Peter’s bed and crossing her hands above her lap. “It’s natural for you not to remember everything; you’ve been through a lot recently. How would you like to hear a recap?”, she suggested. Peter shrugged hesitantly.

“Okay”, he said, still uncertain.

“First of all”, Dr. Cho started, “you don’t have to worry about your identity. I’m a personal… acquaintance of Tony Stark and you can rest assure that no information about Spider-Man will leak or compromise you. You are safe with me and my team – Tony’s orders”, she reassured. Peter let out a breath filled with relief that he hadn’t even realized he was holding.

“Oh, ok”, he sighed, smiling tentatively at her. “I was just thinking about that. That’s good to hear”, he chuckled nervously.

“I’m sure it is”, she smiled back. “You are at the Stark Industries Medical Bay. You have been here for 23 hours now. When Tony found you at the factory, you had been stuck inside an industrial freezer for almost two hours. You’ve undergone severe hypothermia, along with a compound fracture to the left fibula, five bruised ribs, a broken nose, two moderately lacerated wrists and one bullet graze to the right side of the torso. Basically, you were in a lot of trouble”, she offered friendly, and Peter raised his eyebrows at her. He couldn’t really feel any of those injuries she had just mentioned, apart from a slight throbbing on the leg. Probably realizing that, Cho continued: “Your fast metabolism is the responsible for healing most of your injuries so fast. I had never seen anything like that before – it’s truly remarkable, Peter. Apart from your leg, which will still take a couple more days to heal completely, all the other injuries I just listed are already completely healed. Your nose isn’t even crooked”, she pointed out. Peter raised a hand, which was taped to an IV, to his nose, feeling the bridge.

“Cool”, he blinked his eyes in surprise. “Thanks, doc. But if I’ve only been here for less than a day, what’s up with this?”, he gestured at the IV in his hand, confused. Cho nodded.

“When we found you, you were dehydrated and starving. We’ve attached you to an IV so that your body could get the nutrients it needed while you weren’t able to eat and drink, which was crucial to your fast recovery”, he explained, and Peter shuddered at the memory of not having anything to eat for three days. “But, now that you’re properly awake, how would you like trying a bit of solid food?”, she offered, friendly. As if on cue, Peter’s stomach grumbled.

“Oh, that would be awesome”, Peter admitted, offering Cho a hesitant smile and nodding.

“Wonderful. I’ll have it fetched for you”, she said, but didn’t make any movement to leave or stand up. The hint of a frown appeared between Peter’s eyebrows as he noticed the grim look taking over Cho’s face.

“Is there… is there something else?”, he asked. Cho sighed and nodded after a while, meeting Peter’s eyes again.

“When Gargan shot you, the bullet was coated in venom”, Cho explained. Peter’s eyes widened slightly at the unexpected information. “Thankfully, the bullet just grazed you, so not much of it got into your system. It took us a few hours to realize what had happened, and you developed a very high fever in that meantime. I administered an antivenom and applied it to the injury about –“ she took a look at her wristwatch, “ – five hours ago. I think it’s highly unlikely, given your enhanced metabolism, but it is possible that you’ll experience some aftereffects from the antivenom, such as hypersensitivity and shortness of breath, in five to ten days. I’m just telling you this so that you will be informed, should you feel anything weird”, she supplied.

“O-Ok”, Peter said, still trying to make sense of everything he was being told. Now that Cho mentioned it, he could remember waking up a few times, feeling cold, and saying something about being shot. He remembered Tony’s worried face looming above him, and Cho’s own reassuring smile. All these memories were flashes that raised more questions than answers, but one mystery lurked at Peter’s brain more intensely than the others. He turned his eyes towards Cho, hoping he managed to keep the utter fear he was feeling from them, as he asked, in a voice that sounded smaller than he would have liked: “And what happened to Gargan?”

Cho bit her lower lip and lowered her head solemnly, as if trying to think of the proper words she should use to answer Peter’s question. For a very obvious reason, that reaction unsettled him.

“He was dead when we got to you”, she explained. Everything around Peter seemed to freeze for a moment, but Cho continued, unaware of his reaction: “The temperature inside the freezer was nearing – 40ºF. The only reason why you survived inside it for so long was due to your enhanced metabolism. Bringing your temperature up once we got to you was hard – but the fever you developed due to the venom helped us a bit with that. However, a regular human in that cold for two hours… there was no way he could have made it, especially since he was stuck beneath the shelf”, she shook her head.

Peter stared at the ceiling above him, tears pooling in his eyes and chest feeling tight with emotion. Yes, Gargan was evil and horrible and he had _tortured_ him. Worst of all, he had threatened _Aunt May_ , and god knew Peter had wanted to hurt him for doing so. But Peter had never wanted to actually murder him. Never murder him, or anyone.

And yet, Gargan had died. Because of Peter.

Peter had killed him.

Peter was a murderer.

Cho seemed to sense his distress, or at least noticed his tears, and thus surged forwards to place a comforting hand on Peter’s shoulder. She looked concerned, but not quite sure of what was troubling the boy. Peter turned his head away so that he wouldn’t have to face her and sniffed. He couldn’t talk to her about this. He couldn’t talk to May about this. He needed _Tony_. Tony was better at the superhero business; Tony had more experience than Peter or anyone else. Tony would know what to tell him. Tony would know what to _do_.

“W-Where’s Mr. Stark?”, Peter asked, hating the way his voice sounded constricted and hoarse. Cho retrieved her hand from his shoulder, but he couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t meet her eyes.

“I’m afraid… Mr. Stark won’t be around for a while, Peter”, Dr. Cho said. The sheer shock that information caused him made him turn his head and stare at her, forgetting all about his embarrassingly tear-glistened eyes for a moment.

“What? Why?”, Peter asked, frantic, fearful that something had happened to the man. Had Tony been hurt during Peter’s rescue?

Cho lowered her head again, looking like this conversation was the last thing she wanted to do in her life. Still, she sighed and stared up at Peter with what he interpreted as an apologetic, helpless look.

“He needs some time for himself, after everything that happened. Some alone time. To think, and… come to terms with everything”, she explained, even though her tone told him that there was more behind it. More that Peter couldn’t know right at that moment.

Then it dawned on him.

Tony knew about what Peter had done. Tony knew that he had murdered Gargan. He had seen the result of Peter’s actions firsthand.

Tony was disappointed at him.

Tony didn’t want to be associated with a murderer.

Peter was no superhero, now. Tony had no use for him anymore.

“Right”, he said simply, turning his head away again and swallowing past the growing lump in his throat. Cho squeezed his shoulder once more, trying to offer him comfort through a simple gesture.

“You don’t have to worry about that, ok?”, Cho said, more gentle than before. “I’m sure he’ll come around. You just have to be a little patient. I know this isn’t ideal, but… Everything will be fine. You’re making an amazing recovery already and your aunt loves you very much. She’s here for you”.

 _Because she doesn’t know what I’ve done_ , Peter thought, closing his eyes. _She doesn’t know who I am. She doesn’t know about Uncle Ben and she doesn’t know about Gargan. If she did, she would have left._

_Like Tony did._

“I’ll give you some time for yourself”, Cho said softly when Peter continued to refuse meeting her eyes, head stubbornly turned away despite of her best efforts. He could feel the shift on the mattress as she stood up, but still refused to move. He was struggling to keep the tears to himself – he didn’t want to cry in front of her. “I’ll make sure that food is sent here and that you’re not disturbed. Would you like your aunt to come back in?”

Peter couldn’t face May. Not at that moment. Not after what he had just learned. After what he had done. The one person he wanted to see at that moment didn’t want to see him, because he was a murderer. A criminal. No better than Gargan himself. Or than Toomes.

He simply shook his head, without facing the doctor. He wanted to be alone.

“Ok. I’ll tell her you need time to rest”, Cho reassured. “If you need anything, just press that blue button to your right and a nurse will come in right away. Mr. Stark made it clear that we are to attend to your every wish until you are recovered. I removed junk food and physical exertion from the list of plausible wishes, but apart from that, you can ask for anything you want”, she said, clearly trying to break the tension. Peter gave her a small smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes just so that the woman wouldn’t feel bad, but stared at the wall behind her, rather than at her face.

“Thank you”, he managed to say past the lump in his throat. He didn’t sound as grateful as he had wanted to, but there was not much he could do about that other than add the feeling to his growing guilt list.

“You’re welcome”, she said, sounding slightly disappointed. “I’ll leave you be, now”, she added. Peter turned his head away again as he heard her footsteps leading her away from the room and the click of the door closing behind her.

As soon as Cho was out of the room, Peter broke down and started to cry, wrapping his own arms around his chest and sobbing silently as if not to startle May outside the room. Tears ran freely down his cheeks as he squeezed his eyes shut and cried, feeling more lonely than he had ever felt in years. He wanted nothing more than to receive comfort, especially from Tony, but, aware that he wasn’t deserving of it, he was contented with crying himself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't so sure about the format of his chapter, but since I was going for a more "Peter's feverish POV" sort of thing, I wanted it to be more simple and less detailed, since he was sick with fever and disoriented and all. I hope y'all like it!  
> I don't really work with sad endings, so don't worry. Things will be alright in the end. Our boys just need some time to figure their guilt complexes out and stop blaming themselves for every single thing that goes wrong.  
> Also, please don't hate on May. She just wants what's best for Pete. And trust me, she won't get in the way of Iron Dad and Spider Son. But she's as much of a parental figure to Peter as Tony, so... Everything will turn out ok.  
> And fear not. There will. Be. Fluff.


	9. Chapter 9

 

Rhodes knocked slightly on the door before pushing it open just enough so that he could peek into the room, finding the small figure of Peter lying on the bed beneath a thick duvet and what seemed to be several blankets. Peter had his head turned away from the door, but Rhodes could tell he was awake, if the pattern of his breathing was anything to go by. Still, the boy didn’t react to the knock or to the door opening, which made the colonel frown. He knew Peter’s hearing and senses had been increased when he gained his super powers. This could only mean that the boy was either deliberately ignoring him, which would be unlike him, or his injury and trauma had been so severe that his enhanced abilities had not quite been recalibrated yet. Whichever was the answer, Rhodes decided to step into the room at once, since he had received no denial from the boy.

“Hey, Peter”, he greeted, voice low as if not to disrupt the kid, should he actually be sleeping. Peter jolted in surprise at the sound of Rhodes’ voice, turning his head towards the door and meeting the colonel's gaze with wide, tired eyes, as if he was surprised he hadn’t sensed Rhodes’ presence in the room before.

Rhodes could immediately tell there was something very wrong with Peter – and that was while ignoring the fact that his leg was still suspended midair, recovering from the compound fracture. His face was pale and there were dark bags beneath his red-rimmed eyes, as if he hadn’t slept the whole night. He was bearing a permanently frightened expression, even though he had clearly tried to mask it beneath a ‘I’m-just-tired' façade once he realized Rhodes was there with him. Big, brown eyes darted restlessly across the room, as if Peter hadn’t expected to have company so soon and couldn’t figure out what to say in that scenario. But, most of all, Peter looked wrecked – not because of the kidnapping, not because of the torture and the pain, but because of something else; something that Rhodes couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Rhodes knew, on that moment more than ever, that Peter needed Tony to be there for him, because even though he himself knew and liked the kid, he didn’t _know and like the kid_ the way Tony did. Whether the two of them would ever admit it or not, Tony was a father figure for Peter. More than that, even – Tony was _like a father_ to Peter, even though Rhodes knew better than to voice that thought in the presence of his best friend. Obviously, it was _Tony_ Peter needed on that moment, not Rhodes. Not even May, given the fact that she was fast asleep on the hallway outside, stretched on the top of two adjacent chairs.

Peter needed Tony, not only because Tony was important for him, but because he was the only other person in his life who knew what it was like to be kidnapped and tortured. Tony knew exactly what it was like to be pulled apart and stitched back together; to have the agency taken from him and replaced with nothing but threats, orders and pain. He was the only person that fit perfectly into that very narrow intersection of “people who have an idea of what Peter must be feeling like after being kidnapped and tortured” and “people who know about Peter’s superhero identity".

Because of this, Rhodes didn’t think he could be of much help to the clearly distraught kid, no matter how well Peter pretended to be fine. In fact, he didn’t think anyone other than Tony could.

But Tony wasn’t there.

“H-Hey, Rhodey”, Peter said, sounding – and looking – embarrassed for not realizing the man was in the room sooner. He tried to shift into a sitting position as if to transmit some resemblance to normalcy, but gave up after all he managed was to pitifully wiggle himself a few inches up the bed, still too weak to sustain his own weight up and unable to move too far because of his suspended leg. Rhodes noticed the way Peter shivered and pulled the covers tighter around himself after he settled against the overly fluffy pillows.

“How are you holding up?”, Rhodes asked, trying to sound as gentle as possible. He walked over towards Peter’s bed, taking the empty seat beside it and offering the kid a small smile. Peter smiled back, but the gesture lacked its usual warmth and joviality. To Rhodes, it felt as if Peter was trying to hide behind a mask in order to keep his troubles to himself, in the same way he was so accustomed to detect because Tony did it _all the goddamn time._ He wanted to sigh at yet another similarity between the boy and his best friend, but didn’t. Peter needed comfort after everything he went through, not scolding.

“I’m good”, Peter said, trying his best to sound like he meant the words. “The mattress is really comfortable and these – these blankets are really warm. Everything is perfect. Thank – thank you. For, you know, going after me, and taking me in, and getting some really nice doctors to look after my leg. Doctor Cho said I can get cleared out in three days. Perks of having super-fast healing, you know? I knew it would come in handy one of these days. I mean, it’s already saved my life several times before, but I don’t remember ever needing it to mend bones back together, you know? At least not with a compound fracture like that; just the usual bruised-ribs kind of stuff. Can you imagine having to stay in a hospital for months because of one leg? Haha, thank god I don’t need to do that, right?”, he chuckled. He was speaking so fast and in a rant-like way that the laughter in the end made him sound more like a manic than anything else. Besides, the way his eyes glistened in the barely lit room made Rhodes frown, worried.

“Peter”, he said, seriously, not buying Peter’s fake happy-go-lucky attitude for even a moment. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

Peter chuckled again at this, the sound so forced and clearly faux that it made Rhodes cringe. The boy shook his head and gave Rhodes a look that said “what are you talking about? I’m fine!”, shrugging his shoulders and smiling. However, Rhodes could tell there was something wrong. There was something very, _very_ wrong. Decades of seeing through Tony’s many “I’m absolutely fine except I’m not” façades had taught him to recognize whenever other people did the same – and now he was sure there were _tears_ making Peter’s tired eyes glisten in the darkness.

“Yeah, I’m f-fine”, Peter said, voice breaking. He tried to mask the oscillation with a cough, but the fact that he felt the need to _pretend_ , in the first place, made the frown on Rhodes’ face deepen. Peter took a deep breath, running a hand across his nose and pressing the balls of his hands absentmindedly on his red-rimmed, puffy eyes. “It’s probably the pain meds”, he explained after a while, voice sounding firmer, but also… constricted. “They make me feel lightheaded. I’ll be back to normal once I’m off them”, he promised, sighing. The smile was gone from his face, as if pretending to be normal had tired him up.

Rhodes continued to eye Peter with worry and suspicion in his eyes.

“Yeah, except you’re not on any pain meds because your metabolism keeps burning through them”, Rhodes pointed out, crossing his arms above his chest. Peter’s face paled and he removed his shaking hands from the top of his eyes, tucking them beneath the covers. Rhodes couldn’t tell if he was just trying to preserve warmth, or to hide himself away from the colonel’s wary gaze. “What’s really going on, kid?”, he raised an eyebrow at Peter, who was very pointedly looking up at the ceiling and refusing to meet Rhodes’ eyes, embarrassed about having been caught in his lie.

The boy didn’t reply for a long time, making the room drown in a complete silence that was only broken by the constant beeping, humming, and whirling from the machines monitoring Peter’s vitals. Rhodes thought he could see the tears that had been pooling on Peter’s eyes finally roll down one of his cheeks, but before he could be sure, the boy turned his head away from him and sniffed, pulling the covers closer to his face. This time, Rhodes did let out a sigh, but it was more in frustration than anything else.

“Aren’t you feeling a little hot under all these covers?”, he asked after a while, trying to make light conversation, since all his attempts so far hadn’t shown any results. However, Peter only shivered in response, continuing to face away from Rhodes in complete silence. He looked small like that, buried beneath several layers of thick fabric, only his head sticking out with disheveled hair and large ears that made him look even younger.

“It’s fine”, he repeated in a small voice after several seconds had passed. His tone was dull.

Rhodes sat there, helpless and unsure of what to say for several moments, doing nothing other than keep the boy company in uncomfortable silence.

Peter had been taken into the med bay less than a day before. He had been out of the _freezer_ for less than a day. He would need time to recover – Rhodes knew that. But he also knew that there was something else into this, something that Peter wasn’t telling him. Something that was troubling him, and that had kept him from sleeping, and that was making him put up masks and pretend to be fine when he so clearly wasn’t. Maybe it was just the trauma of everything he had gone through – that was the most logical explanation. But Rhodes’ intuition told him there was more into it – more that Peter wasn’t sharing. More that Peter wasn’t _willing_ to share.

“Look, kid”, he began, because if there was one thing he had learned from Tony throughout the years of dealing with his complex breakdowns was that being honest was always the best course of action in this type of situation. “I know I’m not the person you wish would be here with you right now. I know you went through a lot, and very few people can really relate to everything you experienced these past days. I know we’re not really that close, but I _also_ know that I’m willing to lend you an ear, if you need to talk. I’m not going to judge you, or tell anyone about it. You can let it all out, kid”, he did his best to sound as reassuring and honest as possible. Peter continued to stare up at the ceiling. “You don’t have to keep this sort of stuff to yourself, because it’s not _healthy_. And yeah, you could always talk to your aunt, but I know you can’t really… _tell her_ everything you have to say”, he shrugged. “So, if there’s anything you want to tell me, or talk about, or ask me about, you can go right ahead, ok?”, he offered, mustering out a warm smile.

There was a long moment of silence in which Peter did nothing other than breathe, staring straight ahead at the wall in front of him and away from Rhodes. If anything, Rhodes’ kind words only seemed to make the boy feel ever worse, if the miserable look in his eyes was anything to go buy. He looked almost… guilty.

This went on for a long time – Peter refusing to speak up or even meet Rhodes’ eyes, while the colonel anxiously waited for a response. He was about to give up and give Peter his clearly much needed space – after all, he still needed to rest in order to recover, physically and mentally – when, after an eternity, the boy finally turned his head towards him. Peter’s eyes were so heart-achingly sad and lost that Rhodes wanted nothing other than to hug him tightly and protect him from everyone who could possibly want to hurt him – a feeling he usually only experienced whenever Tony eyed him with that very similar, guilt-ridden look. Peter gazed at Rhodes with big, glistening orbs for a long moment, as if searching the man’s face for something, before finally speaking up.

“Is Mr. Stark coming to see me?”, he asked in a small voice that was barely above a whisper, hesitant. Rhodes’ heart twisted painfully inside his chest at the lack of hope in Peter’s tone. This was the one question Rhodes had hoped Peter wouldn’t make.

“He’ll come around”, he said simply, not daring to go into the details of Tony’s issues without his friend's permission and offering Peter an apologetic, sad smile instead. “He just needs some time after everything that happened, Peter”, he nodded briefly right afterwards, as if to confirm the truth behind his words and to offer Peter whatever small comfort he could at the time.

Peter’s face didn’t fall or shift in disappointment, as Rhodes had expected it to, but instead stayed the same – sad, tired and empty of hope in a way that was so unusual for him that it felt almost dreadful to witness. He nodded his acknowledgement to Rhodes’ pitifully poor explanation and went back to staring at the ceiling, still looking like he was struggling against tears.

“O-Okay”, he said, barely managing to keep his voice from trembling. Rhodes lowered his head, reaching forwards to place a reassuring hand on one of Peter’s arms. The boy flinched immediately, not having anticipated the sudden movement. Rhodes let go of him at this, taken aback by Peter’s frightened response. They stared at each other in surprise for a few moments, Peter’s eyes wide and surprised as if he, himself, hadn’t expected to react in that way. He blinked several times before allowing his tense shoulders to relax and slump back against the pillows, embarrassed and uncharacteristically silent.

“Is… Is there anything else you’d like to know?”, Rhodes offered hesitantly, uncertain of what else he could possibly say to comfort the kid. He knew Peter wanted to see _Tony_ , not him; but there was not much he could do about that on that moment. He needed to work with what he had. “Anything you’d like to ask? Doctor Cho says you shouldn’t eat junk food just yet, but I can sneak something in here for you, if you want” he offered, more as a jest than anything else, hoping the offer would lift Peter’s spirits. He could very well remember that the first thing Tony asked for once he returned from captivity was a cheeseburger. However, Peter continued to stare up at the ceiling, looking miserable and unhappy in a way that Rhodes had never seen him and that was nothing if heartbreaking. The boy was usually so joyful and happy. He was the one who lifted other people’s spirits during times of adversity, not the other way around.

Except Peter had been kidnapped, threatened, tortured, and almost killed. Maybe it was a bit too much of Rhodes to expect him to go back to his usual joyful mood right away. The kid clearly needed time.

“Thanks, Rhodey”, Peter said simply, voice blank and tired, even though he did attempt a tiny smile that didn’t reach his eyes as he tilted his head towards Rhodes. “I’m ok”.

Rhodes bowed his head in defeat. There wasn’t much he could do to help Peter on that moment. He needed Tony – that much had been obvious even before he walked into the boy's room. The only thing he could actually do to help the kid while he took his time to recover was to try and talk some sense into Tony again, and only hope his friend would finally realize that Peter needed him just as much as _he_ needed Peter.

“Do you want me to call your aunt back in?”, he offered, standing up slowly from the chair. He wasn’t having much luck with Peter, but maybe he would have so with Tony. He needed to make his friend see that the distance he was putting between himself and the kid was harming both of them in a very clear way, and the thought of leaving Peter by himself when the boy was so clearly distraught was not pleasant. Maybe May could help improve Peter’s mood while he worked on dragging Tony down to the med bay.

“If she wants to”, Peter said absentmindedly, not sounding like he really cared. Which was worrying, to say the least – Peter had undergone torture and three days of captivity when he could have escaped at any time he wanted, just so that he could keep his aunt safe. Rhodes had expected Peter wouldn’t want to let her out of his sight as soon as he got back to her, but that didn’t seem to be the case. If anything, Peter seemed to be extremely apathetic.

“Why wouldn’t she want to, Pete?”, Rhodes asked, concerned. His voice was extra gentle as the sudden thought that Peter could be _blaming himself_ for what had happened suddenly blossomed in his head. Why else would he even consider the possibility that his aunt wouldn’t want to see him, after everything he had gone through? Besides, that would be such a _Tony move_ that, now that the though had finally occurred to Rhodes, there didn’t seem to be any other justification as to why Peter looked and sounded so unhappy.

Peter closed his eyes for a moment as if he had been caught in yet another lie before putting on a fake, tired smile and tilting his head towards Rhodes. The sight of him smiling and trying to look strong, even though he was obviously suffering, was unsettling to say the least. _Christ, how did I end up with two of them?_ , Rhodes thought, hating, for a split second, how similar Peter and Tony were.

“No, I mean”, Peter corrected himself in a nonchalant way that didn’t fool Rhodes, not even for a second, “you can call her in. She’s probably worried about me”.

Rhodes continued to stare at Peter with suspicion in his eyes, but nodded briefly before sighing heavily and squeezing one of Peter’s shoulders in reassuring. The boy didn’t flinch this time, even though he looked like he wanted to. Rhodes knew he needed to fix this the way he could, even if it meant leaving Peter’s side for a while.

“Stay in bed, ok? And call me if you need anything”, he said, serious. Peter nodded absentmindedly, eyes becoming distant and unfocused as if he had gotten lost in deep thought as soon as he was no longer required to talk to another person. With another frustrated sigh, the colonel gave Peter’s shoulder one last reassuring squeeze and left the room, clicking the door closed behind him and receiving no other word or glance from Peter, who was still buried beneath several layers of blankets and covers.

May was already sitting up and stretching her shoulders with a lazy yawn as Rhodes stepped out of the room, jumping to her feet as soon as she spotted the colonel standing on the hallway. Her hair was a disheveled mess – a result of her sleeping half-stretched on the uncomfortable chairs of the waiting area – and her eyes looked baggy and red-rimmed in a way that much resembled Peter’s, but in her case it was more out of tiredness and concern than anything else. Still, she clumsily placed her glasses back on her face before taking a step closer to Rhodes, brow creased in a permanently worried frown as she folded her hands in front of her chest, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her jacket.

“How is he?”, she asked before Rhodes could even say anything, anticipation coating her voice. “Is he awake? Did he talk to you?”

“He’s going to be fine”, Rhodes nodded, taking a comforting hand to her shoulder. “He wants to see you”, he added, because May looked like she needed to hear that. This wasn’t actually a lie – but there was something about Peter’s response ( _if she wants to_ ) that still unsettled Rhodes. He needed to talk to Tony, _yesterday_.

“But did he talk to you? Did he say anything?”, May insisted, sounding serious and worried. Rhodes sighed.

“Just a bit”, he shrugged, wishing he could be of more help to both Parkers. “He isn’t much into conversation right now. Which is understandable, given…”, he trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his hand. He wasn’t sure of many things on that moment, but he knew that May probably didn’t want to hear about the horrors her nephew had gone through yet again. However, to his confusion, this comment only seemed to unsettle May even more, and she took another step closer to him, as if about to share a secret.

She hesitated for a few moments, looking around and worrying at her lower lip as if trying to find the words she couldn’t quite bring herself to muster. Eventually, noticing Rhodes’ confused frown, she sighed heavily, allowing her shoulders to slump in defeat and glancing up at him with tired, weary eyes.

“What happened to him, Rhodes?”, she asked, sadness and concern so evident in her tone that it was heartbreaking. “I know someone broke his leg and that he was hypothermic when he got here, but no one told me _why_ ”, she continued, and this piece of information made Rhodes’ eyebrows arch up in surprise.

Of course, not many details about what had gone down in the fabric could be told to May, given the fact that she didn’t know about Peter’s secret identity, but he had expected _someone_ from Cho’s well-instructed medical team to give the woman a bit more information than a simple list of her nephew’s injuries. It was only understandable she would want to know more about _why_ Peter had almost died.

“And then he had that awful fever that refused to break but, out of nowhere, he’s back to normal and… I just want to understand”, she continued, shaking her head slightly and giving Rhodes a pleading look. He swallowed dry, avoiding her big eyes and trying to think about what he could possibly tell her without risking Peter’s secret identity. “I know Tony’s a billionaire and he’s probably hired the best people in the world to take care of Peter, but I… I want to know what happened to my boy”, she insisted at his hesitation. There was no demand in her tone of voice – only a sad, desperate need for understanding that made Rhodes feel sympathy towards her.

“Look”, he started, well aware that hearing this couldn’t possibly be easy on May, but it needed to be said anyway. She watched him with sharp attention. “The man who kidnapped Peter – he worked for Toomes. He was a sadist”, he swallowed dry. May’s lower lip quivered. “Peter managed to break free when they first tied him up, but Gargan caught him and bound him with wires”, he said, feeling bad for the harsh intake of air this earned from May. “And then, when Peter managed to escape again, he… Well. He broke his leg and locked him in a freezer. That’s why he was hypothermic when we got to him”, he explained. May’s eyes were wide with horror. “But Peter’s fine, now, and that’s all that matters. You don’t need to worry about him, ok? He’ll make a full recovery, and Cho says that he can be cleared out in three days. He’s ok”, he added, hoping it would aid May’s distraught state.

“And what happened to this man? Gargan?”, she asked, sounding angry, disgusted and shocked at the same time. “Did Tony arrest him?”

“No”, Rhodes sighed, itching nervously at the back of his neck. Why did the Parkers insist on making difficult questions he didn’t want to answer? “He… he ended up getting stuck inside the freezer with Peter. He was already dead when we arrived”.

May blinked up blankly at Rhodes, shocked by that information. Her eyes darted across the room as she took in the words, surprised, and it took her a few moments of assimilation before she finally met Rhodes’ eyes again, something dark and dangerous sparkling behind the glistening brown of her irises.

“Well. At least this way, I won’t be going to jail for killing him”, she said, tilting her chin up in determination. “He got what was coming for him. For what he did to my nephew”, she stared up at Rhodes as if daring him to defy her opinion. He shrugged and nodded his agreement.

“I can’t say I don’t agree with you”, he admitted. “Though I’d rather have caught him alive and made him pay for what he did. He got off too easy like this”, he huffed out a breath, crossing his arms above his chest. May considered his words for a while and then nodded too, but not too much time passed before she was back to looking extremely worried, taking a finger to her lips and biting down on the nail nervously. If Rhodes knew her better, he would have said she looked almost guilty.

“And what about Tony?”, she asked, not quite meeting Rhodes’ eyes but not quite looking away, either. “I haven’t seen him ever since he first arrived with Peter yesterday. And he hasn’t been around ever since his fever broke. Is he… ok?”, there was concern in her voice.

Rhodes lowered his head. He was hoping May wouldn’t approach this subject, because as much as he sympathized with her worry for Peter and her anger and frustration at not being able to help the kid, he was also Tony’s best friend. And, as much as he understood that May was Peter’s legal guardian and had not only full responsibility, but also full control on who Peter could spend time with, he also disagreed _vehemently_ with her decision of shutting Tony out of the kid’s life.

Because, if he was being honest, Tony had saved Peter, more than once and in more ways than one. He had helped Peter in more means than May could ever dream of. If Tony hadn’t found Peter when he did, other people – Spider-Man’s enemies – could have done so. And there was no way Peter would have managed to protect himself with that hoodie he used to wear for a suit, spider-powers or not. Tony had protected Peter, and trained him, and offered him way more than he would have managed to get for himself, should he be a superhero on his own. Tony had given Peter a parental figure that he was lacking after his uncle’s death; a father figure that May could never supply, despite of her acknowledgeable best efforts. Tony had given Peter something that no one – not May, not Rhodes, not _anyone_ – could ever replace. And taking this away from Peter – taking this away from _Tony_ – was not going to do anyone good. Rhodes was sure of that. But how could he explain it to May without fatefully bringing Spider-Man into the subject? How could he make May understand how important and irreplaceable Tony was for Peter, when she thought her nephew was nothing but an intern?

“He’s… coping”, Rhodes said, wishing he was anything but the mediator in this situation. “Look, May, I’m going to be honest with you, because sugarcoating isn’t really going to help anyone right now, ok?”, he announced, awfully sincere. She frowned, but nodded, paying close attention to the colonel’s words. He sighed and mustered all of his patience before continuing. “Peter is like a son to Tony. I know he is your kid, that he’s like a son to you too, but he’s… _Peter_ ”, he shrugged. “There’s just no way someone can _not_ like this kid. And Tony – he has a lot of issues, we’d have to spend the whole day standing up here for me to list all of them, but he’s – he’s not made of iron. No matter what people believe or say on tabloids or choose to think based on the little they know about him. Tony isn’t a cold, distant billionaire who doesn’t care about anything other than money – he’s a good person with a good heart; a heart that _isn’t_ made of metal. He _cares_ about Peter”, he shrugged. “I understand this must be hard for you to see, but believe me when I say the kid’s brilliant. He’s really smart, May; and competent, too. There’s just no way Tony could _not_ like him, or care for him. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him care so much about anyone in all those years I’ve known him. Which are a _lot_ , trust me”, he chuckled fondly. May mustered a small smile, but she was still frowning. “My point is – I know Peter is your kid. No one’s trying to change that, or replace you, or take him away from you. But there are other people who care about him, as well. Tony is one of them. I know that, for a long time, it’s been just you and him, but don’t you think that it would be good for Peter to have someone else there for him as well, to do the things you can’t do for him? To have the talks that you can’t have, to teach the things that you can’t teach, to love him just as much as you do?”

May hesitated for a moment, frown deepening on her brow and eyes blinking rapidly in confusion.

“Rhodes, I –“

“I’m not saying to – to give Peter up. No one’s suggesting that”, he continued before May could interrupt him. Now that he had started speaking – that he had finally addressed the elephant in the room –, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. “But everyone knows that Peter _loves_ Tony. Breaking them apart – stopping Peter from seeing him – is going to do more harm than good, for both of them. And I know Tony better than I know myself – I can assure you that no one feels guiltier about this whole kidnapping than he does. He has a talent to blame himself for things that aren’t necessarily his fault, and you can rest assured that nothing like this will _ever_ happen to Peter again, not now that Tony knows it’s a real risk. He’s done nothing but protect and look after Peter ever since they met, and he cares about him. He’s been _tutoring_ him, May. I’ve never seen Tony bother to teach anyone anything, let alone a _teenager_. He really cares about Peter. And so do I. So does Happy, and everyone around here. But he thinks that you don’t want him to see the kid anymore and, since he’s a dumb idiot with a guilt complex, he’ll respect your wish and keep his distance. But you gotta admit – as much as you don’t like to – that this _won’t_ be good. For either of them. Peter loves you and needs you – but now, he needs Tony, too. Especially after the traumatic experience that he went through. And I really thought you were –“

“ _Rhodes_ ”, May interrupted him, eyebrows arched and a surprised expression on her face. Only then did Rhodes realize he was verging on ranting, out of breath from speaking so fast and tone frantic. He blinked in surprise, not having expected to lose his composure so easily. She gave him another small smile and mimicked him, crossing her arms above her chest and tilting her head to the side before shaking it slightly in what looked like resignation. “Look, I agree. Tony _is_ important to Peter – I’m not blind. Even before he started this internship – ever since he was a _kid_ – he wouldn’t shut up about ‘Mr. Stark’. ‘Mr. Stark this’, ‘Mr. Stark that’; it was _maddening_. And after he started working here, he got way more tired, yes, but also… happier”, the smile disappeared from her face to give place to a grim expression. “Ever since Ben died…”, she trailed off for a moment, averting her eyes downward. “Ever since _that_ , Peter’s been so… not distant, but _different_. He _blamed_ himself. God only knows why, the kid is an angel and a better teenager than I could have ever hoped for, but he still did. And it felt horrible, seeing the guilt and the pain of loss consuming him without being able to do anything to help. I was right there, and I just… couldn’t help him”, she shrugged, eyes going back to glistening.

“I know how that feels”, Rhodes commented with sincerity. He remembered all those times Tony blamed himself for things he couldn’t have changed. He remembered holding his friends shoulders as he stared down at Howard and Maria’s graves, an empty look on his face. He remembered rubbing Tony’s sweaty back as he puked his many hangovers away down the toilet. He remembered finding out about the paladium poisoning and seeing the sickness slowly killing his friend. He remembered feeling desperate to help, but having no idea how to.

“I’m sorry”, May chuckled without humor, sounding more embarrassed than anything. “We barely know each other and here I am, spilling my tragic life story on your ears”, her voice shook as she said the words, and she gingerly removed her glasses in order to cleanse the tear droplets from the lenses before placing them back on her face.

“It’s ok”, Rhodes reassured her with a nod. “I think it’s important we talk about this”.

“It’s just”, she continued, taking a deep breath. “He’s been happier”, she shrugged helplessly, looking like she wanted to smile and cry at the same time. “After Tony sought after him. And his happiness is my happiness, you know?”, she shrugged again. “I’ve never really wanted kids. But Peter – Peter needed me. After his parents died, he had no one else, and after Ben died, I _… I_ had no one else. It was just Peter. Just me and my little guy”, she sniffed, clumsily wiping away a tear that escaped her eye. “And when Tony told me that he had been kidnapped… I lost it”, she admitted, barely keeping from grimacing as she struggled to contain her tears. “I was so afraid of losing him, of never seeing him again”, her voice broke. “First, I lost my husband, and then, if I lost him… He’s all I got”, she sniffed. “If I lose him… I don’t know what I would do. He’s everything to me”, she dropped her head, arms crossed so tightly above her chest that it looked like she was trying to hug herself.

“Hey. Hey, you’re not losing him”, Rhodes tried to comfort her, since she was clearly on the verge of tears. May continued without looking at him, sounding like she needed to get the words out.

“So yeah, I said that to Tony, but I didn’t really _mean_ it, you know?”, she explained, glasses getting all blurry from her tears as soon as she put them back on. “I mean, I still think we need to sit down and _talk_ about this, because Peter can’t get mistaken for Tony’s son again, not when he has so many enemies – but I don’t want to… to _break them apart_. Not when he clearly makes Peter so happy. What kind of aunt would I be if I did that?”, she shook her head again.

“I’m glad to know you think this way”, Rhodes nodded, squeezing May’s shoulder. “But, right now, Tony still thinks you want him to keep away from Peter. _I_ think you two need to talk about this, as soon as possible. Your presence is important, but I’m sure Peter wants to see Tony, too. He’s been asking for him”, he added, hoping that information would soften May’s heart.

“No, of course”, she nodded emphatically, looking serious. “Of course, I’ll talk to him. I’m sure Tony wants to see him too, after… well”, she sighed. “But right now – I’m dying to see my boy”, she added, a pleading look in her eyes. “You said he asked for me, and I’ve been away from him the whole night – Cho said he needed to rest and that my presence could disrupt him so I stayed out here worried sick about him and –“

“It’s ok”, Rhodes interrupted her near-rant with a soft smile. “You go in there and keep him company. I still have to talk Tony out of his workshop, anyway”, he sighed. “That’s where he hides away when he’s upset”. May smiled sadly, looking the slightest bit more relieved, but there was a gloomy look in her eyes that made Rhodes tilt his head to the side in curiosity. “What?”

“Nothing”, she shrugged, shaking her head slightly and averting her eyes. “It’s just that… I’m glad”, she admitted, smiling past her sadness. “I’m glad Tony cares so much about my boy. It’s nice to know that… if something… well”, she trailed off with a sigh. “It’s nice to know Peter’s got someone else, you know? Someone other than me. I think he needs that”.

“Yes, it’s good for him”, Rhodes placed a hand on May’s shoulder again. “But he’s not the only one. You can count on us too, ok? For _anything_ you need. We’re here for you as much as we are for Peter. You’re his family”.

“I’m not his only one”, May smiled, and for the first time, it seemed to reach her eyes, even though they were still wet. However, she did seem to be a lot better than when she first woke up. “I’m glad Peter has you guys in his life. Despite… what happened”, she lowered her gaze. “But I’ll never be able to say how grateful I am that you found him, and saved him, and brought him back to me. I know that – that Tony could have just… not… _done_ anything. He’s not bound to Peter or anything, he could have just turned his back on him, but he didn’t, so… Thank you”, she held Rhodes’ hand where it was resting on her shoulder.

“Tony would never do that”, Rhodes explained solemnly. “He loves Peter like a son. He would never just turn his back on him, especially in a situation like that. Even though people seem to forget that, Tony _knows_ what it’s like to be kidnapped and tortured. Even if it hadn’t been Peter – he wouldn’t have stood aside. That’s just not him”, he shrugged.

“Yes, yes, I know that now”, she nodded, looking a bit embarrassed for even suggesting that Tony would have left Peter to his own luck. “Tell Tony I want to thank him in person, ok? After I’ve seen Peter”, she added. “And that he can come visit him anytime. It’s his building, after all”, he jested. Rhodes smiled. “But I won’t stand in his way. I would like to have a talk with him about… _safety_ , but I’m not going to stop him from seeing Peter, or from continuing this internship, tutoring, whatever it is these boys have going on”, she nodded briefly.

“I’ll talk to him”, Rhodes nodded, squeezing May’s hand and mimicking her nod. “Thank you, May. For understanding”, he added with honesty.

“Thank _you_ , colonel”, she smiled briefly. “For helping bring Peter back to me”.

“You can call me Rhodes”, he chuckled. “God knows I hate these formalities. Well, I’ve kept you out here long enough”, he announced with an exhale, retrieving his hand from May’s shoulder and clapping his hands together. “I’ll go after Tony, and you go talk to Peter”, he stepped aside so that May would have access to the room and gestured towards the door politely.

“Of course”, May nodded. “I should expect to see you and Tony here soon, then?”

“Hopefully”, Rhodes sighed. He knew that luring Tony out of the workshop and into the medbay would be a near-herculean task. May nodded her acknowledgement, but before she could reach for the doorknob, Rhodes reached a warning hand towards her and added: “Go easy on Pete. He’s still pretty shaken up after everything that happened, so don’t put it on yourself if he doesn’t seem a lot better after you talk to him”, he warned cautiously. The smile that had blossomed on May’s lips died down a little, but she nodded her acknowledgement at Rhodes with a flash of sadness in her eyes, as if recalling everything her nephew had been through.

“Thank you”, she said again, nodding. “I’ll do my best”.

Rhodes smiled and watched her disappear into the overly quiet room. Once the door clicked closed behind her hesitant form, he turned on his heels, heading for Tony’s workshop and hoping – only hoping – that he would be able to talk his friend into visiting the kid that so clearly needed him.

 

 

 

 

 

“Let go of me, you cockroach”, Toomes struggled against the heavy pair of hands that were pushing him into a badly-lit interrogation room, which was empty of anything other than a metal desk and a single chair. He dropped heavily on the chair as the men pushed him down on it, and before he could say anything else, they attached his cuffed hands to a chain that led to the center of the desk and left the room unceremoniously. He was left all alone in the silence and darkness, sitting in front what was undoubtedly a two-way mirror.

An eternity of nothingness passed, and Toomes didn’t even try to struggle against his cuffs, aware that it was useless. He’d been transferred to this supermax facility on the night before, escorted by several heavily armed guards and even blindfolded so that he wouldn’t memorize the way out. The whole transfer process – from the guards bursting into his solitary confinement and dragging him out roughly, to arriving at the even _more_ solitary confinement in this new prison – could only indicate that his plan had failed and that Gargan had been captured. Anger was boiling inside of him. The man only had one simple job – kidnap Peter and get money and tech out of Stark. It was unbelievable that he had not only failed such a simple task, but also dragged everyone else down with him.

His fantasy of escaping and returning to his family felt more and more like a distant dream with each passing second in the darkness, and Toomes hated it. He needed to think of a way he could get out, supermax or not. He needed to befriend someone who could break him out of there and get back home, someone preferably more competent and less useless than Gargan had been. He needed –

The light of the room on the other side of the mirror was turned on with a loud clang and, where previously the two-way mirror had been, a window was revealed. Toomes squinted at the sudden light suddenly entering his line of sight, tilting his head slightly to the side before his eyes grew accustomed to the brightness. When he finally managed to face the window without feeling like his head would split in two, his heart stopped in his chest and his stomach dropped to his feet. There was a face on the other side of the glass, a familiar man standing very still and facing him directly, hands casually thrown inside the expensive pockets of his expensive suit.

“Stark”, Toomes snarled, mustering all his disgust and rage into one syllable.

“Toomes”, Stark greeted back, voice neutral and nonchalant. Even though his tone was controlled and detached, there was a coldness in his eyes that made Toomes’ blood chill despite of himself.

“I take it Gargan spilled the beans, then”, he snorted, turning his head away from the billionaire in disgust. He gave a small pull against his restraints out of a shed of hope that he’d free himself, but it was fruitless. This place was ridiculously secure and well-kempt. He would never be able to escape on his own.

“Gargan is dead”, Stark said simply, voice detached and cold in the exact way Toomes had always imagined it would be in person. He turned his eyes back to the billionaire at the surprise this information evoked, disbelief painted all over his face. He hadn’t expected Gargan to be dead – only captured. Had Stark had the balls to kill him? “Guess your plan didn’t turn out like you had expected it to, huh?”, Stark raised a disdainful eyebrow, provoking.

Rage boiled inside Toomes’ core and down his stomach. Not only had Stark ruined his life, but now he dared to _mock_ him for it?

“Guess he’s just another meaningless name to add to your long list of victims, then”, Toomes spat out, accusing. “I doubt you’ll even remember him in a month”.

Stark’s face hardened at this, eyes growing sharper and face looking stony and weary. He was grimacing, but if Toomes’ words had any effect on him, it didn’t last for long. He began to pace slowly in the room, careful to keep himself in Toomes’ eyesight at all times as he strolled, as if he had all the time in the world. This uncaring attitude unnerved the Vulture, who pulled against his restraints again, this time with more strength, hating the way the metal remained steady and indifferent to his efforts to escape.

“I didn’t kill him”, Tony admitted after a few moments of silence, not looking at Toomes and sounding like he was talking about something as unimportant as the weather. Despite the indifference in his voice, his eyes – his eyes were betraying him. His eyes were full of heavy, unspoken emotions that Toomes couldn’t quite interpret, whether it was from the distance between them or from the lack of familiarity. “Wish I had, though”.

“Funny way to take the guilt off your shoulders”, Toomes snarled again, disdainful. “But you must be so used to having deaths on your account it that I assume it’s second nature to you by now”.

Tony snapped his head to look at him with something akin to outrage on his face, but soon his shoulders slumped and he tucked his hands deeper into his pockets. He tilted his chin to the side and observed Toomes with a superior-like curiosity, as if he was an animal in a zoo. The Vulture scoffed again, wishing he could strangle Stark with his cuffed hands.

“Gargan died because he got stuck inside a freezer and froze to death”, Tony said slowly, watching Toomes with sharp attention as if he wanted to see what sort of reaction that information would earn. Toomes couldn’t deny he was surprised and wanted to know more – he hadn’t been expecting Gargan to die at all, and especially not in such a stupid way; not when he was knowingly so dangerous and tough –, but he didn’t dare bring himself to ask Stark for anything, no matter how curious he felt. However, the billionaire didn’t need Toomes to ask him so in order to continue. “He found out about Peter’s secret identity and attacked him. Broke the kid’s leg in an ugly compound fracture and poisoned him with one of his bullets. They both got stuck inside the freezer at some point during the fight. Gargan wasn’t as lucky as the kid”, Tony explained simply, eyes never leaving Toomes’ face. There was a dark danger beneath them, a danger that made Toomes shiver again. “I found them two hours after. Your buddy Scorpion was already dead by then, but still, Peter barely made it out alive. He almost died several times over the course of the past day”.

There were many things Toomes wanted to say, but didn’t bother. For one, he had left specific instructions that Peter was not to be harmed. It didn’t matter that the kid was a pain in the ass and more of a nuisance than anything – he had saved his life. Not only that, but he had also saved _Liz’s_ life. Toomes could hate Spider-Man all he wanted, but he couldn’t deny those were debts he needed to pay. Despite his reputation, he was a decent man and he didn’t like to owe anyone anything. To know that Gargan had disobeyed his direct orders and harmed Peter – not only that, but attempted to _kill_ him – made him feel a little less sympathetic about the Scorpion’s death. Maybe the guy had deserved it, after all.

“Just in case you’re wondering why I’m telling you this, or why you should care”, Stark interrupted his thoughts, leaning one arm on the glass that separated him from Toomes. He had a pensive expression on his face that looked more like a façade. “I just want you to know the reason why you’re going to spend the rest of your life here. Why this is the last time you are ever going to have a conversation with someone in your lifetime; why this is the last time someone is ever going to address you directly. Why this is the last time you’ll ever be allowed to interact with someone. Why this is the last time you’ll ever _see_ someone. In twenty years, when you’re still stuck in your miserable little cell, forgotten in a corner of the most heavily secured facility in the world while the rest of the planet goes on without you; when you’re going mad from the isolation and the loneliness; when you’re regretting every single decision that led you onto this point; when you’re praying for whatever deity you believe in to release you from your misery without being listened to; when you’re wishing you could go back in time and change every single action that resulted on this, I want you to remember. I want you to remember the words I’m about to tell you, and I want you to know the _precise reason_ why you ended up where you are. When you’re old and about to die, forgotten, alone, and unimportant, I want you to _remember_. And I want you to know that the reason why you’re going to rot in this prison cell without ever seeing the light of the day again is because you _dared to hurt_ Peter Benjamin Parker, and for that, I personally made sure you’re never, _ever_ going to get out of here until you’re nothing but a sack of bones”.

Before Toomes could say anything, before he could even make sense of the words he was being told, before he could comprehend that he had just listened to his death sentence, Stark turned on his heels and made it towards the exit of the room he was standing at without bothering to spare the Vulture as much as another glance. His hand twisted the doorknob and he pulled the door open, but before he left, he stopped on his tracks, turning his head towards the two-way mirror one last time.

“I hope you enjoyed the last conversation you’re ever going to have”, he announced. And then, with nothing more than the deaf click of the door closing behind him, he was gone. The lights were turned off immediately after Stark left the room and Toomes was once again encased in darkness – a darkness which would be his only companion for the rest of his days.

He was silent for what felt like an eternity before he banged his fists on the metal desk and screamed his throat raw with rage.

 

 

 

 

 

When Tony walked into his workshop, Rhodes was there waiting for him.

He already knew he was bound to find his friend there, waiting for his arrival – Friday had warned him of the man’s presence as soon as he entered the building. But Tony knew, deep inside, that the conversation Rhodes so clearly wanted to have with him – and that he dreaded so much – was inevitable, and there was no use in putting it off.

Despite spotting his friend as soon as he entered the shop, Tony still pretended Rhodes was completely invisible as he made his way to his computer and turned the screen on, ready to get to work right away. He knew the cold shoulder tactic wouldn’t do much to scare Rhodes away – years of trying that same strategy had never worked, and it didn’t seem as his luck was about to change. Just as he had expected, Rhodes got to his feet as soon as Tony pretended to ignore him and walked towards his best friend, arms crossed above his chest and a serious look on his face. Tony pointedly didn’t look up at him as he tried to focus his whole attention on reading the charts in the screen in front of him, chin idly resting on the ball of one of his hands.

“So”, Rhodes said simply, in that tone that indicated he wasn’t willing to put up with Tony’s shit for too long.

“So”, Tony mimicked, putting a special effort on sounding bored. He knew that the ‘scaring-Rhodes-off’ plan was bound to fail, but he couldn’t help but to try anyway. He just wanted to be left alone to do his work and definitely _not talk about feelings_. The last thing he wanted was to be forced to deal with the consequences of what had happened in the past days, which was what Rhodes so clearly wanted to force him to do. Why couldn’t he just catch a break and be left alone to ignore everything building up inside his chest?

“Where’ve you been?”, Rhodes raised an inquiring eyebrow at him, looking curious and disapproving in exact equal amounts. “I thought you were hiding away up here, but it’s been hours and no sign of you. Friday refused to tell me where you went, which can only mean you were up to something”.

“Wow, babe, you waited for me for hours?”, Tony mocked, sarcasm dripping off his fake-tender tone. Rhodes rolled his eyes. “I didn’t know you cared so much”.

“If there’s one thing I do well, is caring for you”, Rhodes pointed out, looking impatient. “Also, spare me of the attitude and just spit it out. You know you won’t be able to shrug me off”.

It was Tony’s turn to sigh, eyes never leaving the screen in front of him. He had data to analyze. He had things to take care of. People to look after. Whatever emotional mumbo-jumbo Rhodes wanted engage him in could wait. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by something so ephemeral as feelings on that moment. Or ever again, for that matter.

Allowing himself to indulge on feelings was what resulted on… well. Resulted on what happened. Tony wasn’t about to let it happen again.

“Tony”, Rhodes added sternly when it became clear his friend wasn’t about to answer his question. Tony sighed heavily and ran a hand over his tired eyes, feeling the beginning of a tremor taking over his fingers and what felt like a throbbing headache making itself noticed at the back of his mind. How long had it been since he last slept? All he remembered was using coffee as fuel to keep himself awake, but it had probably been days since his head last met a pillow.

“I have things to do”, he said pointedly, gesturing vaguely at his best friend and not paying him any attention. “We can have this heart-to-heart later”.

“No, we can’t”, Rhodes insisted. There was something about the stern look on his face that indicated he was more serious than ever, but Tony didn’t allow himself to dwell on that. “There is a more important matter at hands right now. At _your_ hands, to be more accurate. It’s something that only _you_ can do. And you know very well what I’m talking about”.

Tony scoffed simply, continuing to refuse meeting Rhodes’ eyes. This seemed to irritate the colonel even further.

“You can go ahead and ignore me. In fact, ignore me all you want”, he gestured in frustration. “But its’ Peter you can’t keep ignoring”.

Tony winced at the mention of the name. Rhodes continued despite of his friend’s reaction.

“The kid needs you, Tony. I don’t think he slept all night. He’s been asking for you ever since he first woke up – _properly_ woke up –; and you were there during his fever. He was asking for you then, too. You know how much he needs you”, he shook his head in disbelief. “And don’t even try to convince yourself that you don’t need him back, because I know you do. You can pretend all you want to the people that don’t know you, but you can never fool me. So just quit this stupid act and _look at me_ , _dammit_ ”, he pulled at Tony’s shoulder so that the man would turn to face him.

Tony stared up at him with resigned red eyes, puffy, baggy, and tired. He looked like a mess, and usually, whenever he was looking like that, Rhodes would force him to go to bed right away and sleep for three days straight. But, for the first time ever since they got to know each other, Rhodes’ priority wasn’t Tony’s health. It was Peter’s. Because if there was one thing that would immediately do wonders for his best friend’s health was getting to the root of this whole predicament and _solving_ it. In order for Tony to get better, he needed to see Peter.

“Just go down there and talk to him. He needs it, Tony”, he insisted, serious. “He’s traumatized, and you’re the only person he knows who’s been anywhere close to the same situation”, Rhodes pointed out, squeezing Tony’s shoulder.

Tony continued to stare up at his best friend with those tired eyes of him before shrugging the touch off and turning back to his computer screen. Rhodes stared in silence for a few seconds of annoyance before scoffing loudly and shaking his head.

“Great. Yeah, that’s just great. Real mature of you”, he said with bitter sarcasm, lowering his head. “Care to at least tell me what is so important that you need to take care of instead of going to see Peter?”, he asked, stepping behind Tony’s rolling chair and staring at the computer screen the billionaire was so focused on. There, many financial charts were on display, containing several different names, but the one currently open on the sheet was assigned to one ‘Liz Allen’. Rhodes gave Tony an unimpressed look, waiting for explanations. Tony looked annoyed at Rhodes’ intrusion, but after a few seconds of glaring and sighing his discontent, he finally turned on the rolling chair in order to properly face his best friend.

“I’m just trying to take care of a kid who lost her father, ok?”, Tony explained briefly, not meeting Rhodes’ eyes. “It’s my fault, so I’m responsible for her now. I’m just making sure she gets enough money to go to the college she wanted, and goes on about her life despite of what has happened to her. She shouldn’t have her dreams trampled down because of something that wasn’t her fault”.

“What are you talking about?”, Rhodes asked, squinting his eyes in confusion and concerned about the self-deprecation in Tony’s tone. “Who’s this kid?”

Tony worried at his lower lip, looking anywhere but at Rhodes and frowning in clear internal conflict. His left hand was curled into a shaky fist and he looked like he was having trouble talking about this subject, so Friday took the burden out of his shoulders and responded.

“Liz Allen is Adrien Toomes’ daughter”, the A.I. provided with a nonchalant tone that was characteristic to her. Rhodes blinked in surprise for several moments, before his face paled and shock overcame his features. Tony looked guilty and was trying to isolate himself. Tony didn’t want to face Peter. Tony had just said that Toomes’ daughter had _lost her father_. Could this mean…?

“Tony”, Rhodes called, barely able to keep the fear and horror from his voice. At the sudden change of tone, Tony looked up, confused. “Tell me – tell me you didn’t –…”

Tony squinted his eyes at Rhodes for a moment, trying to follow the line of thought, before his face fell in understanding and he rolled his eyes briefly, scoffing.

“I didn’t _kill_ him, if that’s what you’re worried about”, he clarified in an obnoxious tone, and hearing that made Rhodes’ shoulders slump in relief. “Though I wish I had. I _could_ have”, he shrugged simply, looking almost regretful. “But I didn’t”.

“Then what do you mean, she lost her father? What did you do?”, Rhodes frowned, still confused. Tony sighed again, running a tired hand across his face.

“The reason why Toomes became a alien-tech-dealer?”, he asked, raising one eyebrow at Rhodes. Then, he gestured simply with his hands to the side and tapped his own chest, right at the spot where the reactor used to be. “Me. I had a finger on making the guy lose his job, and basically gave him a tap in the back as I sent him down the criminal-way-of-life road. And then, the whole Homecoming thing happened and he ended up in prison and – well”, he scoffed. “Let’s just say that I’m to blame for way more than just getting Peter kidnapped”.

“Tony”, Rhodes said, a warning in his voice.

“I sent Toomes to the Raft”, Tony blurted out before Rhodes could start his self-acceptance lecture. This, as Tony predicted, was enough to make his friend shut up, only if for a moment. He tilted his head up in order to meet Rhodes’ eyes, unsure of what the man’s reaction to that information would be.

“Really?”, Rhodes asked after a few seconds, raising one very surprised eyebrow. Tony nodded.

“Yeah. I couldn’t risk it”, he shrugged. “Not when he knows about Spider-Man. Not when he was directly involved with… this”, he gestured vaguely, lowering his head and facing away from his friend. Rhodes blinked several times before tilting his head to the side.

“So what, you’re going to pay for his daughter’s college fees? After he almost got Peter killed?”, he asked. Tony snapped his head towards Rhodes harshly.

“Kid’s got nothing to do with it”, Tony immediately said, sounding like Rhodes’ comment had hit too close to home. “Just because her father messed up, it doesn’t mean _she’s_ a mess up”.

“You know what, I wish you’d let that knowledge apply to yourself, sometimes”, Rhodes pointed out sadly. Tony would have blushed, had he not been – well. Had he not been Tony.

“What I _mean_ ”, he said, clearly trying to diverge the subject from Howard as fast as possible, “is that she’s never getting to see her father again, so the least I can do is pay for her studies. Plus, she’s Peter’s friend. I’m just doing what I have to do”, he justified, shrugging and turning back towards the computer, right back at ignoring Rhodes in the blink of an eye. A long time of silence passed.

“Tony”, Rhodes said after what felt like an eternity, voice soft and gentler than it had been a moment before. Tony didn’t look up, but his fingers stopped their constant typing on the keyboard. Rhodes took a deep, preparing breath before continuing. “You’re doing this all wrong”, was his simple comment. Tony turned his head to face him, clearly confused and curious. “If you want to show Peter you care, then _show Peter you care_. You need to use _words_. The kid’s not a mind reader, he may not be interpreting everything you do as a sign that you care about him. You gotta show it in a different way”, he explained. Tony’s face seemed to pale, but his eyes became harder and a frown appeared between his brow.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about”, he said, voice and shoulders tense. He turned back towards the computer, but his fingers didn’t resume typing.

“Yes, you do”, Rhodes sighed tiredly, but patiently. “And you should stop pretending you don’t. I told you already – Peter needs you. Playing this game is wasting the time you could be spending with him”.

Tony lowered his head, biting down on his lower lip in a way that indicated he was trying very hard not to snap at Rhodes, despite all the odds pointing towards that outcome.

“I’m not having this talk with you”, he said simply, trying his best to sound calm – and failing. His left hand shook and curled into a tighter fist.

“I understand you’re afraid”, Rhodes insisted. “I understand you feel like this is your fault. And I understand you have this shitty guilty complex that Howard implanted on your head ever since you were a kid, but this isn’t about _you_ , Tony, it’s about Peter. How would you have felt if you had been isolated right after I got you back from Afghanistan? If me and your friends turned their backs on you, after all the trauma and pain you endured there? How would you have felt if you were left all alone?”

“I _was_ left all alone”, Tony finally broke, snapping. His voice raised an octave and he slammed his left hand on the desk, immediately closing his eyes and taking a series of deep breaths as if to calm himself down. Rhodes stared at him with wide, shocked eyes. Tony stared back with resentful, hard ones.

“ _What_?”, he asked simply, voice small and confused.

“I _was_ left all alone. You, Pepper, Obi– Obadiah”, he said through gritted teeth, shaking his head vehemently. “You _all_ bailed on me. You were either too angry with me to bother talking to me, or too busy _plotting my death_ , but still, I turned out fine, didn’t I? I’m still here”, he huffed indignantly, sounding more than ever like he wanted       to be left alone. Rhodes frowned. “I’m still standing. So that’s all that matters, in the end”.

“Ok, I don’t know what you’re talking about”, he pointed a calming hand at Tony, looking worried that his friend actually felt like he had been abandoned. “We didn’t abandon you, Tones. We were there for you, through and through”.

“Yeah”, Tony snorted, shrugging and focusing back on his computer. “It sure felt like it”.

“Tony”, Rhodes insisted, more serious. He looked actually afraid by then. “I need you to look at me”, he asked, but earned no response from his friend. “We need to talk about this –“, he attempted at Tony’s silence, but was harshly interrupted by his friend standing up from the chair out of a sudden.

“It’s been ten years, Rhodes, just _drop it_ ”, he said, tilting his head sharply to the side and walking past the colonel towards a small makeshift scullery, which he had put together in the workshop. The scullery consisted mostly of a counter where he could make coffee and a sink to wash the dirty mugs. Tony started to brew himself a cup with his back turned to Rhodes, not paying him any attention. Rhodes desperately wanted to reproach his friend for drinking so much coffee and not sleeping for days, but decided that he had more pressing matters in his hands at that moment.

“I’m not _just dropping_ it” he protested. “You just accused me of abandoning you after you got tor–“, he cut himself before Tony could flinch, back still turned to him. “After everything that happened to you. I want you to tell me why”, he tried to argue. Tony simply huffed again.

“I’m over it, ok?”, Tony shrugged, turning to face Rhodes and leaning the lower of his back against the cold counter. His face was impassive, but his expressive eyes betrayed him. “You don’t need to beat yourself over this. But if this bothers you so much, maybe go mope about it somewhere else and leave me to do my work while you figure out what to do to make amends. I’m willing to take a dinner night out as an apology, but I’m sure you can be more creative than that if you put your heart into it”, he jested, even though his voice lacked its usual humor. Rhodes’ frown deepened and he looked offended.

“Tony, if you only said I abandoned you to push me away – that’s cold, man”, he protested. Tony rolled his eyes and closed them, sighing deeply as if to muster all his patience. “That’s way too serious for you to just throw it on my face as a joke. If I really made you feel abandoned – if any of us did – then you gotta –“

“Jesus, I’m almost starting to wish you’d go back to talking about the kid instead”, Tony interrupted him once again, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers and looking like he was fighting off a headache. “Which – doesn’t mean I _want_ you to, just to be clear”, he pointed a warning finger at Rhodes before his friend could even open his mouth. “If anything, I wish you’d just leave me alone and stop mothering me around”.

“Well, if you’d quit being a menace to your own self and actually did what you should do, I wouldn’t have to mother you”, Rhodes crossed his arms above his chest. “Don’t think we won’t be talking about all this in the future”, he raised an eyebrow as Tony poured himself a mug of the freshly brewed coffee. “But right now, I really think we should focus on the matter at hands. Which is Peter”, he pointed out. Tony didn’t meet his eyes as he walked past his friend once more, acting like he was invisible. Sighing, Rhodes followed him close, trying to stay patient himself. “He is just a _kid_ , Tony, whether he has superpowers or not. He shouldn’t be going through this by himself”.

“He’s not by himself”, Tony pointed out as nonchalantly as he could, taking a sip of his scalding coffee and sitting back at his rolling chair. “He has his aunt”.

“Yeah, but his aunt doesn’t know what you know”, Rhodes added, sounding like he was trying to argue with a teen. “She hasn’t done what you’ve done. And she wasn’t the one who saved Peter from death and held him for hours until help came. She wasn’t the one who saved his ass several times over, and who protects him constantly, and who trains him. So yeah, Peter needs her right now, but he needs _you_ , too. And I’m not saying this lightly, Tones”, he added the nickname in the hope that it would soften his friend’s heart. “Anyone who walks into that room can see clear as day how badly he wants to see you”.

Tony turned his face away from Rhodes as he took in his friend’s words, not knowing what to reply. If Rhodes kept insisting, the pressure inside his chest would burst and he would be forced to deal with the outcome of having an emotional breakdown. Which was something he couldn’t afford, especially not after Rhodes mentioned such a sensitive and important subject to him. Mentions of Afghanistan always did wonders to his anxiety and trauma, but mentions of Afghanistan right after Peter was held hostage and tortured – this was more than Tony was prepared to deal with. He wouldn’t be able to hold his ‘I’m-too-strong-and-rich-to-care’ façade for much longer, if the state of his erratic heart was anything to go by.

“I think it’s ridiculous that I have to be here basically begging you to go see the kid when you and I both know that you’re dying to just get into that elevator and go to the medbay yourself”, Rhodes added at Tony’s lack of response. “But I also know that you’re dumb and you’re blaming yourself for what happened to Peter, even though it wasn’t your fault. And I know that, since you are not only dumb, but also insanely rich, you’ll try to show Peter you love him in other ways that don’t involve getting close to him. Which I can safely say that’s even _dumber_ , because the kid _won’t_ get your message. He needs you to be there for him right now, not for you to pay his tuition fees. He doesn’t need you to give him expensive gifts, or a new house, or a new suit, or whatever it is you’re planning on doing. He needs you to _be there_. This is something you can’t pay with money”.

“But he shouldn’t need me to be there”, Tony said in a low, hoarse voice, glancing up at Rhodes with gloomy eyes. “He _shouldn’t_ , Rhodes. I can’t be around him. I’m putting him in danger just by _communicating_ with him, let alone being close to him. I can’t. I shouldn’t have let him in in the first place. I shouldn’t have led him on, or brought him over, or showed him I care. If I hadn’t, he wouldn’t have been kidnapped. He wouldn’t have been hurt”.

“Tony –“, Rhodes attempted, but Tony got to his feet again, running his hands across his face and looking older than usual.

“I _mean_ it”, he said, sounding more serious than Rhodes had ever heard him. He looked like he was in pain, but that was understandable, given the fact that he had been awake for probably over four days. “You may think for some deluded reason that what happened wasn’t my fault, but it _was_ , whether you want to believe it or not. If it hadn’t been for me, for the things I did, Peter would be just fine right now, webbing around Queens and helping old ladies who buy him churros like he’s supposed to do. He would be patrolling like a normal spider-kid and he would be _safe_. Now that he’s been kidnapped, who knows what sorts of criminals could go after him? We still haven’t captured the rest of Gargan’s crew. We don’t know if they know about Spider-Man. What if word comes out? What if Peter’s identity is revealed and, this time, someone actually manages to kill him? What if one of _my_ enemies tries to kill him? I can’t have that on me. I can’t have that on my shoulders. Dragging him into this whole superhero mess was already enough, he shouldn’t have to deal with this kind of thing, on the top of everything else going on in his life”, he shook his head in disapproval, which was directed mostly at himself.

“Tony”, Rhodes took a step closer to his friend, holding a hand to his shoulder. “Peter was in danger from the moment that spider first bit him. He would still be in danger if you hadn’t met him. He’s a hero”, he pointed out. “I know he’s just a kid and you want to protect him, we all do – but he’s also a hero with an enhanced metabolism who can lift tons of weight using only one hand. That sort of thing always attracts danger, whether you like it or not. Whether you’re _involved_ or not”.

“Yeah, but around _me_ – he’s in even more danger”, Tony tried to explain, frustrated at Rhodes’ inconvenient insistence. “He’s better off away from me”.

“He’s not”, Rhodes immediately shook his head, already predicting every argument Tony could use. They had had this conversation before. “He’s definitely not. He needs you now, more than ever. Everyone can tell. Even May”.

At the mention of Peter’s aunt, Tony lifted his head, intrigued. Rhodes would have dared to say there was a slimmer of hope sparkling inside of his big, expressive eyes that much resembled Peter’s – even though they weren’t actually related.

“I talked to her”, Rhodes clarified at his friend’s inquiring look. “About what she told you. About you not seeing Peter anymore”, Tony’s expression hardened at the memory. “She agreed with me that this was uncalled for. And she said that she didn’t mean it – Friday can find the footage from the corridor for you, if you think I’m making this up. She’s not going to keep you from seeing him, so for the love of god, Tony, just _get your shit together_ and pay the kid a visit, will you?”, he sighed. “It’s heartbreaking to see him like that”.

“You think I don’t know that?”, Tony raised an indignant eyebrow at Rhodes at this, suddenly more annoyed than before.

“I think you do”, Rhodes immediately responded, untroubled by Tony’s harshness. “And I know it must be painful for you to see him like that, but it will be painful for _him_ if you don’t show up. I didn’t get to know Peter very well, but from what I’ve seen so far, he takes a lot after you when it comes to having a massive guilt complex. I wouldn’t doubt he’ll find a way to blame himself for everything that happened, which is why you have to go talk to him before he even starts doing that”, he insisted.

“Stop it”, Tony said simply, swallowing dry and bearing a grim expression on his face.

“Stop what?”, Rhodes raised an eyebrow, arms still crossed above his chest in an almost paternal way.

“Saying he takes after me”, Tony scoffed, sounding self-deprecating. “He’s not my son, as May very kindly reminded me a couple days ago”.

There was a small pause in which Tony pointedly looked anywhere but at Rhodes’ general direction, pretending to work, and Rhodes simply stared down at his best friend with an unamused look on his face.

“He’s not your son”, Rhodes agreed, nodding. “But he might as well have been. I know you see him as a son, anyway”, he added, making Tony’s head snap towards him with an unreadable look on his face. “What? He sees you as a father, too. We all know that. We all _knew_ that before you two did”, he rolled his eyes. Tony looked like it was taking every ounce of his will not to blush.

“Still”, Tony said, clearing his throat with awkwardness. “He’s not. And people thinking that he is was what got the kid in this whole mess in the first place”.

“Oh, _god_ ”, Rhodes sighed heavily in impatience, rolling his eyes as deeply as they would go. Arguing with Tony always felt like arguing with a wall – all his possible arguments were doomed to fall on deaf ears.

“What you don’t seem to be understanding”, Tony pointed out in that superior tone he always used when he was convinced he was right, “is that even though Peter thinks I should be near him, and even though you all think I should be near him; even though you managed to convince his aunt I should be near him, I still _shouldn’t_. We’ve had this talk before and I’m not having it again”, he added before Rhodes could protest. “Especially because of the way it ended last time”, he scoffed, remembering Rhodes’ words that still made his heart sting. _You sounded just like your dad._

“So you still think shutting yourself is the best solution, then?”, Rhodes raised an eyebrow at him. Tony sighed, downing the rest of his coffee in one go and deciding that he was going to need way more caffeine if he planned on getting everything done before the day ended. And also because talking about feelings made him feel exhausted, and he didn’t have the time to afford exhaustion.

“I think it’s the _only_ solution”, Tony shrugged, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and placing the now empty mug at the desk. “It’s the only way I can make Peter safer. It would be greedy of me to keep him around”.

“You’re literally the only person who thinks that”, Rhodes scoffed. With each of Tony’s nonsensical arguments, he seemed to grow more tired and more resigned, almost as if he was nearly giving up on convincing his friend.

“Then I’m clearly the only reasonable person around here”, Tony said, staring deeply into Rhodes’ eyes. “I’m just trying my best to protect the kid”, he added after a few silent moments, hoping that would finally be enough to make Rhodes understand. He needed his friend to understand that letting Peter go was extremely painful for him, but it was necessary. It was _necessary_.

“He doesn’t need your protection”, Rhodes shrugged nonchalantly. He sounded resigned. “He never did. Sure, he got off a whole lot better with it, but that’s the whole point I’m trying to make. He’s a tough kid. You said so yourself. He doesn’t need you to watch his back every second, or to protect him from every single person trying to attack him, because you _can’t_ , and no matter how highly you think of yourself, you’ll _fail_ if you set your expectations that high up. But still – he needs you. He needs your guidance, and your tutoring, and your presence in his life. To walk out on him like that – to bail on him right after everything he endured – that’s cold. That’s really, really cold, and Peter doesn’t deserve that. No one does”, he concluded, hoping his purposefully harsh words would succeed on shaking some sense into Tony, after all his previous attempts had failed.

Tony’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second and, for a moment, Rhodes actually believed he had won the argument and that his friend was about to give in. But then, just as fast as it had yielded, Tony’s resolve reappeared inside his eyes, followed by a stubborn determination that Rhodes knew better than to try to overcome. Whenever Tony set his mind to something – truly set his mind – it was almost impossible to convince him otherwise.

“I guess the saying is right”, he shrugged, looking almost apologetic. “We’re doomed to become our parents”.

Rhodes scoffed, turning his head away from Tony.

“Don’t say that. You’re not Howard”, he protested. “And I know how much you dread being anything like him, so _don’t be_ ”.

“You said it first, not me”, Tony accused, resentful. He was purposefully trying to push Rhodes away now, putting as much obnoxiousness in his tone as he could. His plan seemed to succeed, because Rhodes scoffed again and shook his head in profound disapproval.

“Yeah, whatever, man”, he said, sounding bitter and resentful towards his friend’s stupid decision. “At least I know I tried”.

“God knows why”, Tony admitted, doing his best to sound stubbornly bored. “You don’t even know Peter that well”.

“I don’t _have_ to know him well”, Rhodes pointed out, almost angry. “I know _you_. And because of that, I know how important he is to you. I’m not just trying to help him. I’m trying to help _you_ , too. And I know – you can mark my words – that isolating yourself from him will do none of you any good. But I guess you’ll just have to learn it the hard way, like you always choose to do”, he accused. “I’m going, now. I’ve already told you everything I wanted to”, he announced sharply. Tony looked actually surprised by Rhodes’ harsh tone, and especially his attitude. “If you need to talk to me, I’ll be in the medbay. May says you’re free to go there anytime, and I don’t have to remind you that Peter will be waiting for you”, he concluded, hoping that would trick Tony into at least stepping by. Tony simply sighed in response.

“Yeah, off you go”, he gestured vaguely. As Rhodes turned his back and walked towards the exit of the workshop, shaking his head in disapproval, Tony shouted after him: “I’ll still be taking that make-up dinner if you want to!”

The glass door hissed as Rhodes left the shop, not looking back at him. As soon as his friend was out of his sight, Tony’s shoulders slumped and his face dropped into an even more tired and gloomy expression. He stared blankly at the computer screen in front of him for a few moments, doing a mental recap of the conversation he had just shared with his best friend and trying to figure out if maybe Rhodes could be right.

He knew Peter wanted to see him. That much was obvious by the boy’s many requests and calls after his name. And he knew how much Peter admired and cared for him – the kid had called him dad, in his moment of most pain and confusion. That was something Tony couldn’t simply shake off. That was something Tony couldn’t simply forget about.

But, at the same time, he couldn’t just go back to the life they had before without taking into consideration the fact that Peter had been kidnapped and tortured because of his proximity to him. This young, clever, gentle, loving kid had been hurt and nearly killed just because Tony had allowed him to get close. What would have happened to Peter if Tony hadn’t gotten to the factory when he did? Or if Gargan’s bullet had lodged itself inside the kid? Or if a minor detail in this whole story had gone wrong, and Peter ended up gone forever? If Peter ended up _dead_? Tony didn’t want to think about the many tragic outcomes that this kidnapping could have had, but at the same time, he couldn’t _ignore_ them. He couldn’t ignore the fact that he nearly lost Peter, and it was all his fault.

He didn’t have to pretend with Rhodes, and yet he did. He didn’t have to pretend with Peter, either, and yet he _always_ did. The truth was that Howard had been right all along – Stark men _were_ made of iron. Because they needed to be. Because if Tony allowed himself to be flesh, and bone, and heart, and caring – if he allowed himself to show anything other than an iron-like façade to the world, the world would eat him alive. The world would tear him apart into a million little pieces, if Tony dared to show just how much he cared – how truly vulnerable he was because of one single kid. No, he had to keep the mask – he had to keep being iron. If not for his own sake, then for the kid’s. Showing Peter, or anyone else, that he cared, would only result in more disaster coming to them in the form of a target looming above the head. And risking to lose Peter again was something Tony was not willing to do – something he couldn’t _bear_ to do.

Still, he wished he could make Peter understand. He wished he could just sit down with the kid and explain that he wasn’t walking away because he didn’t care about Peter, or because Peter had screwed up, or because of Peter at all. He wished he could find a way to express what he thought and felt without having to use words or give presents; he wished he could make Peter understand that the distance he was going to put between them hurt Tony just as much as it would hurt him. He wished he could make Peter understand how much he loved him, and how important he was to him. But talking about feelings – _explaining_ feelings; _comprehending_ feelings – was something that Howard never taught him how to do. So Tony knew better than to try. After all, he would rather people thought he was a second version of his father – no matter how nauseating that thought was to him – than have them know that Peter was his Achilles’ heel. Because yeah, Peter was a liability to him. Peter was his weakness. And by shutting him out, Tony wasn’t protecting himself from his weakness – he was protecting Peter from him.

He would miss the kid, though. It had only been one day since they last saw each other, and he already missed the kid. Peter had become such a warm, joyful presence in his life. It hurt not having him around anymore. It hurt remembering what had happened to him, it hurt remembering it was his fault. It hurt closing his eyes and listening to the sound of Peter’s screams, or the way his body trashed and convulsed beneath his grasp, or the way his head lolled limply to the side when he lost consciousness from the sheer amount of pain. Tony didn’t want Peter to ever go through something like that again, and he was ready to do everything in his power to prevent it. It was the least he could do.

He pressed the button that completed the transaction to Liz Allen’s account and provided her with money for her future tuition, and then immediately turned off his computer screen as if the sight suddenly revolted him. Instead, he fished his phone out of his pocket, thumbs tapping their way to his chat with Peter as if it was muscle memory. He hadn’t received any new messages ever since he told the kid off after telling him about the trip to Hong Kong. The whole exchange felt as if it had taken place years before, even though only four days had passed. It felt as if it was from a different age, an age where everything was simpler and happier. His thumbs hovered above the last text Peter sent him, the last text Peter would probably ever send him.

_Have a safe trip!!_

He wished he could have found the tears to cry but his eyes were dry and his chest was hollow – and he knew it didn’t feel that way just because of the empty space left behind by the reactor.

 

 

 

 

 

His leg was on fire.

The pain was excruciating and numbed him to all else – sound, sight, smell, touch, none of those things mattered in face of the pain he was feeling. His leg had been split in two, and torn apart from him, and he was a screaming, sobbing mess on the floor because Gargan was standing on the top of him with a wicked grin on his face and delusion in his eyes, his gun pointed at Peter’s forehead. And then, to his horror, Gargan pulled the trigger, except he didn’t aim the shot at Peter, but at Mr. Stark, who had just arrived at the scene, and the bullet hit him in the chest and he fell to the floor like a ragdoll and Peter ignored the pain so that he could crawl his way to Mr. Stark, except it was no longer Tony on the floor but Uncle Ben, bleeding and gasping and clinging to the front of his shirt as he gaped silently and bled all over the floor, dying and dying and dying and then he was Tony again, mouth open in a small ‘o’ and blood spilling all over his chapped lips and down his goatee and then his head fell back and he died and before Peter could even say anything Gargan was back and he stomped Peter’s broken leg and the pain that coursed through him was intense and roaring and _burning_ –

He woke up with a silent gasp, forehead sweating and eyes wide with fear. His healing leg was throbbing uncomfortably with the phantom pain from the dream, and Peter couldn’t tell if the discomfort he was feeling was caused by his real injury or by the imaginary one he had just experienced. Either way, his head fell back heavily against his pillows and he let out a shaky breath, trying to ease down his racing heart and only then realizing that his fingers were gripping the sheets of the bed tightly. He loosened his grip and forced himself to relax – even though he knew the attempt to be futile, if the speed of his heart was anything to go by. He soon found that closing his eyes and trying to go back to sleep only resulted on images of a dead Uncle Ben and a dead Mr. Stark flashing behind his closed lids, so he gave up after two attempts. Who needed sleep, anyway? He was better off awake. Awake, he could make sure that no one would hurt his sleeping aunt, who had her head resting beside his healthy thigh and who had one hand gently placed above his knee. Awake, he could make sure no one would climb up the window and kidnap him again. Awake, he could make sure Gargan wouldn’t step out of the shadows and hurt him again.

That last option wouldn’t happen, anyway. Gargan was dead. He had killed him.

Yeah. There was that, too.

He rubbed a tired hand on his face and pulled the covers tighter around himself, trying to preserve warmth. He knew it was stupid – he was so warm he was actually sweating – but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that if he got rid of the covers, he would risk freezing again. Back in the freezer, Peter had wanted nothing other than a simple duvet to help him keep warm and prevent him from growing hypothermic. Now that he had not only one duvet, but several sheets and sweaters, he couldn’t just let them go. It didn’t matter he was feeling so hot his skin was damp and itchy. He could need to keep warm in the future, so he needed to have them close-by. He was never leaving the house without bringing a coat with him again.

He was feeling hot and sweaty all over, and if he was being honest, it was quite uncomfortable, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t get rid of the blankets and the duvet. He just couldn’t. He tucked himself more carefully inside them, pulling them all the way up to his chin, and gave one last attempt at falling asleep. He was feeling so tired.

When the made-up memory of Mr. Stark dying in his arms plagued his heat-ridded brain moments after he closed his eyes, he gave up on sleeping. _Sleep is overrated_ , he remembered Mr. Stark telling him. Peter had never agreed with that – if anything, he had always worried about Mr. Stark’s horrible sleeping habits –, but now he couldn’t say he totally judged the man for thinking that way. He wondered what type of nightmare plagued Tony whenever he closed his eyes to sleep at night.

He also remembered Tony telling him other things, but the words felt distant and dream-like, so Peter couldn’t be really sure that his mentor had actually said them or if they were just a result of his brain playing tricks on him. There were flashes of dreamy memories that echoed in his head every now and then, and Peter had been spending a long time trying to figure out whether they were real or not.

 _It’s ok, squirt, I’ve got you. You’ll be ok_. He really couldn’t tell with that one, but he assumed it was true. Mr. Stark had taken a liking for calling him squirt recently, and for some reason, it always made Peter’s chest feel all warm with affection when he did.

 _That’s a nasty injury you got there, and you wouldn’t want it to get infected_. Yeah, that was probably real. Peter remembered the pain and worrying about infection, too.

 _It’s over. I’m not touching it anymore_. Probably real, too. For some reason, he could remember with sharp focus the way Tony’s face had looked as he said these words. He remembered being held, too, and Mr. Stark’s comforting warmth seeping through his freezing limbs as he hugged him. Maybe the hugging part had been a hallucination, though. Mr. Stark didn’t really like hugs. He couldn’t be really sure.

 _I’ll buy you as many jackets as you want_. Yeah, that was probably made up. Why would Mr. Stark offer to buy him jackets while rescuing him?

 _Aunt May is safe_. That much he knew was true. The fact that Aunt May was lying fast asleep beside him proved that.

 _You can sleep later, when you’re better_. Probably true, and also a bit ironic. Peter didn’t think he’d ever get over the fact that he was a murderer, at least not enough in order to be able to sleep properly again.

_Pete, I’m never, ever giving up on you._

Yeah. That one was definitely a hallucination. The fact that Mr. Stark hadn’t been around ever since Peter woke up was evidence enough of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to god the fluff is coming, don't give up on me just yet


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As some of you may have noticed, I changed the number of chapters for this story, so this isn't the final one!

He woke up with a jolt, breath hitching in his throat and eyes shooting wide open as they focused up on the white ceiling above his head. In the room, there was no sound other than the constant whirring of the machines and his own, ragged breathing as he tried to calm himself down. Peter relaxed his tense muscles and allowed himself to sink into the mattress, ignoring the uncomfortable way the covers dragged across his sweaty skin. He didn’t remove them or kick them away, despite of how hot he was feeling beneath them. He could need them in the future, should he find himself feeling cold – there was no telling. He wouldn’t want to be caught off guard again.

The sound of a throat clearing surprised him again and he snapped his head to the side, only to find, with deep and honest surprise, that no one other than Happy was sitting by the bed. The former boxer was holding up a newspaper, eyeing Peter cautiously from behind the open pages and raising up an eyebrow at him, as if curious about the boy’s abrupt awakening. Peter opened and closed his mouth as he sought the proper words to say, but found none. If he was being honest with himself, he had no idea what Happy was doing there. Looking around the room, Peter found May was nowhere to be seen.

“Bad dream?”, Happy asked instead of offering a proper greeting. Peter blinked dumbly at him – he didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to think about the way Mr. Stark choked on his own blood as he died, or how his face became Uncle Ben’s just as the life left his eyes. He didn’t want to think about the way his leg had frozen up and shattered in a million pieces as Gargan tore it apart with a sledgehammer. He didn’t want to think about the way everything hurt every time he ended up succumbing to exhaustion.

He didn’t even remember falling asleep. He had tried so hard to stay awake, only to spare himself from the nightmares, but he had clearly failed. He’d have to be more cautious in the future.

Happy was still staring at him, eyes intense and fixed on Peter’s face as if trying to read and interpret the boy’s reaction. Peter didn’t want to tell anyone – let alone Happy, who always acted as if he was nothing other than a nuisance – about the nightmares, so he figured the best course of action would be to hide the truth. He was getting pretty good at that, anyway.

A liar and a killer. If he had looked at himself now a year before, he wouldn’t recognize the person he’d become.

“No, no”, he tried his best to chuckle, shrugging and playing it off with a forced smile. Happy didn’t seem impressed. “You just startled me, sort of”, he added, hoping Happy would buy into the weak excuse and drop the subject. However, Peter didn’t have such luck.

“What, by turning a page?”, Happy’s eyebrow arched up higher. Peter was glad the duvet was covering his body all the way up to his chin – like this, Happy couldn’t see the way the boy shrunk into himself in embarrassment at the man’s obvious suspicion.

“I… do have superhearing”, Peter said, partially glad that this wasn’t 100% untrue. It was probable that the sound of Happy turning the page of the newspaper had indeed roused him, seeping into his nightmare in the form of the sound his leg gave as it broke. He couldn’t tell if this was truly the case or just his mind making up excuses, but he decided not to discard the possibility as entirely ludicrous for the time being. “My spider-senses are still recalibrating after… well”, he trailed off, swallowing dry and averting his eyes from Happy. If he had bothered to look just a second longer, he would have noticed the way the man’s face dropped in sympathy and guilt at his words.

“I’ll try to make less noise”, Happy said, his tone gentler than it usually was whenever he was talking to Peter. The foreign tenderness in the driver’s voice made Peter turn his head to look at him, confusion etched in his face. “What? You’re sick. I’m not about to disrupt you while you rest”, Happy added upon Peter’s look, sounding a bit too defensive.

“Thanks”, Peter said, not sure what else he could offer to the conversation.

He wasn’t really in the mood for entering the usual non-stop-rambling mode that he always did whenever he was around Happy. In fact, he hadn’t been in the mood for talking at all ever since Cho gave him the news about Gargan, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that people were starting to grow suspicious of his unusually silent behavior – the way Rhodes had looked at him on the previous day was enough of an indicator that at least _one_ person was noticing there was something wrong with him. Everyone knew Peter loved to run his mouth off, even when he had nothing to say. Being overly quiet could have passed off as a result of the trauma and exhaustion he had gone through in the first two days, but he was near his medical release and didn’t seem to be getting better at the whole talking-about-feelings thing.

May kept asking him questions about how he felt and what was on his mind, too, but as much as Peter hated to admit it, he was more used to lying to her. Every “I’m fine” and “you know what, May, I’m dying to go back home so you can make me those slightly-burned, delicious homemade brownies you always make when I’m sick” came easily to his lips. Even the smiles – the forced, fake smiles he put on his face just to stop her from worrying – seemed to come more easily when she was in the room. He knew it was unfair to May – the woman did nothing other than love him and care for him, and yet she was the person Peter found it easiest to trick.

He didn’t like to think too much about the reason behind that. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he had been raised by her, and thus knew how to work around her inquiries and mannerisms. Maybe it had to do with the fact that she was one of the most important people in his life, and he didn’t want her to know that he was no longer her innocent baby boy. Maybe pretending was easier around her because she had a very specific image of him in her mind, an image that he didn’t want to spoil by spilling all his dark secrets on her. She didn’t know about Spider-Man. She didn’t know about the role he had played on Uncle Ben’s death. She didn’t know about Gargan. Peter wanted to keep it that way. He wanted his life to have at least one last person that believed he was good, and pure, and noble, no matter how untrue that was in his eyes. Aunt May was currently the only person who still believed that, so Peter _had_ to keep pretending in front of her. He had to keep the façade up. It didn’t matter how tiring that was. It didn’t matter how bad it made him feel – he needed to do that, not only for her sake, but for his, also.

But pretending in front of Happy or Rhodes was an entirely different thing. They knew about Peter’s secret. They knew what he had done – what he had become. Self-defense or not, he had killed a person. That wasn’t what superheroes did. Surely, collateral damage was an occupational hazard of their job, and Peter knew that lives had been lost in the past because of other superheroes, but this was different. This was _personal._ He could have saved Gargan, even if the man was a sadist and a criminal. He could have removed the shelf from the top of him, and maybe that way the man could have tried to warm himself up or even find a way out of the freezer. He could have done something, but instead, he had stayed there, too caught up in his own cold and his own pain to help the person who was dying mere feet away from him. A hero wouldn’t have done that. _Mr. Stark_ wouldn’t have done that.

Peter didn’t understand why Happy and Rhodes bothered to show up and keep him company. Aunt May was there because she loved him and she wasn’t aware of the things he’d done, but they… They were Tony’s friends. They barely even knew Peter. Happy, for one, barely even tolerated Peter. And they knew about Gargan. If they were Tony’s friends, and they knew Peter was a murderer, then why were they so worried about staying by his bedside, or starting conversation, or checking if he was ok? Peter didn’t think he deserved that, and because of this, he didn’t want that. What he truly wanted was to be left alone, because when he was alone he didn’t have to keep the mask up. When he was alone, he didn’t have to pretend he was “fine, just a little tired”, he didn’t have to put on fake smiles or forced chuckles. He didn’t have to _lie_.

“So, kid”, Happy broke the tense silence in the room. Peter turned his head to look at him, removed from his inner thoughts. Happy folded the newspaper with disinterest in its contents and crossed his leg slightly, expression serious. He looked a bit uncomfortable and wasn’t quite meeting Peter’s eyes, but the boy couldn’t say he wasn’t slightly thankful for that. Meeting people’s eyes was becoming kind of a chore for him after everything that happened. “You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here”, he continued, cleaning his throat. Peter felt himself grow pale. This was it. Happy was about to throw his crimes to his face. “So I’m gonna cut the bull and go straight to the point”, he continued, not quite catching up with Peter’s panicked response.

“Uh, ok”, Peter said, not knowing what to expect. He liked Happy – he really did – and he didn’t want yet another person he admired to be disappointed in him, or to accuse him, or to… hate him. His shoulders grew tense as he waited for Happy to continue, and he was once again glad that there were hot covers hiding the stiff limbs away from view.

“I wanted to apologize”, Happy said. Peter’s shock at this was so intense that, even though he was feeling tired and vulnerable and sad, he couldn’t help but to let out a very loud and high-pitched:

“ _What_?”

Happy frowned at his response, and Peter couldn’t be sure if it was in annoyance for the interruption, annoyance at the disbelief in his tone, or simply in confusion as to why Peter wouldn’t understand the reason behind his apology. Either way, Happy gave him a look that read “for god’s sake I’m not good at this so let me say what I have to say” before shifting on his seat and clearing his throat again, clearly uncomfortable.

“I just wanted to apologize for, you know”, he gestured vaguely with one of his hands before settling it on his lap. “Not. Giving you a ride. When you asked me to”, he shrugged. He looked like there was more he wanted to say, but didn’t know how to put it into words. Peter frowned and blinked dumbly at him.

“Oh”, he said after a few seconds. “Happy, I didn’t even remember that”, he admitted before he could stop himself, frown deepening. Knowing that Happy was there to apologize, rather than accuse him, made Peter feel a little bit better – just enough that his heart grew warm and his familiar need to help others blossomed inside the previous hollowness in his ribcage. Happy really thought Peter would be mad at him for not giving him a ride? After everything that Peter had done? The urge to make the man feel better about himself outweighed Peter’s need to be alone. “Honestly. It’s fine”, he added when Happy gave him a confused, almost indignant look.

“Ok, how can you _not_ remember it?”, Happy raised an eyebrow, disbelief evident in his tone. “Everything that happened just happened because…”, he trailed off, averting his eyes from Peter and looking extremely guilty in a way the boy had never seen in Happy’s eyes. “Look, kid, just let me apologize, ok?”, he continued, not looking at Peter. “Because I’ve been beating myself over this ever since Tony told me what had happened. If I had just given you the damn ride, you wouldn’t – none of this would have happened. So really, I am sorry”, he turned his head towards Peter, looking serious. “Usually I’d tell you not to get used to me apologizing to you, but I really mean it. I _am_ sorry”, he gave Peter a small nod as if to emphasize the seriousness of the words. “And next time you really need a ride, don’t call me _Harold_ ”, he added with a frustrated sigh. Peter couldn’t help but to chuckle at this.

“Happy, it really is ok”, he said, trying to look – and sound – as reassuring as he could. He mustered a small smile that didn’t feel quite as fake as the ones he had given Rhodes on the previous day. “I don’t blame you. It wasn’t your fault”, he pointed out. How could Happy even think that not only Peter would blame him, but that he _was to blame_ in the first place? The only ones at fault in the whole story were the people who had kidnapped him and hurt him – not Happy, or anyone else. The driver, however, didn’t look too convinced, and Peter sighed. “Look – from what I got, Gargan had been watching me for a while. He was just waiting for a chance to catch me when I was alone. It would have happened anyway, so this wasn’t on you, ok? It’s _fine_ ”, he explained, giving Happy a smile that was meant to be reassuring. Happy frowned at him.

“How…”, he cleared his throat, straightening himself on his seat. “How are you feeling, kid?”, he asked, looking concerned. The expression on his face made it look like he was suspicious of something, but Peter couldn’t tell what. He sighed, deciding that being a bit banter-ish like it was his usual would probably do Happy some good – or at least it would make him stop worrying so much.

“A bit tired of everyone asking me the same question”, he chuckled, trying to sound playful, rather than rude. Happy continued to stare at him with the same suspicious expression, just like Rhodes had done. Peter felt his smile falter a bit but tried to keep it up, a bit embarrassed. “But seriously, I’m fine. My leg doesn’t hurt anymore, and Doctor Cho said I can be cleared out tomorrow, I think? So yeah. I’m ok”, he nodded. Happy hummed low.

“Do you want me to turn the heating up?”, he offered. “That way you can get rid of the blankets”.

“ _No_ ”, Peter protested, way too fast to be considered natural. Happy raised an eyebrow at him and Peter felt himself flush, instinctively pulling the covers closer to himself. “I mean, it’s ok. I like the blankets. The heating’s fine”, he added, sounding a bit too frantic to his own ears. _Deep breaths, Peter. You gotta keep it cool, or he’ll think something’s wrong. Keep it cool._

“You sure? You look sweaty”, Happy pointed out, eyes never leaving his face. Peter was, in fact sweaty. He was also feeling really hot beneath the covers, but after his unpleasant experience of literally almost freezing to death, he couldn’t say that the warmness bothered him. If anything, it made him feel safer, as did the covers cocooning him.

“Yeah, I’m fine”, he nodded at Happy, saying the words for what felt like the thousandth time. “The blankets are cool”.

“Ok”, Happy agreed, even though he still looked wary. “Is there anything you need? Something you want me to get you? If I were you, I wouldn’t let this unique opportunity of having me willingly do things for you pass, because it’s not going to happen again any time soon”, he said, opening his newspaper again and pretending to read it. Peter gave him a small smile, thankful that Happy seemed to be back at his banter-y mode.

“I wouldn’t say no to a pizza?”, he suggested hesitantly. The last thing he felt like eating at that moment was a pizza, if he was being honest, but so many people had offered him things and he had declined all of them. He didn’t want Rhodes or May to keep growing suspicious. He wanted them to believe that he was fine, that he was recovering, and leave him be. He didn’t want their pity, or their concern. He didn’t deserve it. Happy gave him a ‘kids these days’ look and rolled his eyes.

“Seriously? You’re sick in bed and the first thing you decide to ask for is a pizza?”, he shook his head in half-disapproval. Peter mustered another tiny smile at him.

“Well, you’re the one who offered”, he shrugged, not sure if Happy could see the gesture from the amount of covers on the top of his shoulders. “Plus, Rhodes said he could sneak some junk food in here for me, if I wanted him to”, Peter added. Happy’s head snapped at him at this.

“Oh, he did?”, he asked, looking very competitive out of a sudden. Peter pursed his lips in an apologetic look and nodded. Happy put the unread newspaper down again and stood up from his chair. “Well, I’m not gonna be behind _Rhodes_ ”, he added, almost defensively. “What kind of pizza do you want, kid?”

“Uh, the usual?”, Peter tried. Happy was very familiar with Peter’s (unhealthy) eating habits, since it was very usual for the boy to make him stop on drive-throughs or pizza places whenever he gave him a ride to or back from Stark Industries. Usually, the man complained about Peter making him stop all the time and mostly about Peter’s choices of food, but he always ate a slice of pizza with him or bought himself a hamburger to accompany Peter’s.

“So the disgusting one”, Happy rolled his eyes, fishing his wallet from his pocket and checking the contents. “Fine, I’ll go fetch you your junk food, but don’t get used to it. You’re only getting special treatment because you’re sick”, he added in a Happy-like way. Peter smiled at him. He always found it amusing when Happy pretended he was being forced to do things. “Stay in bed”, he added over his shoulder as he headed for the door.

“Got nowhere else to be”, Peter jested. Happy pulled the door open, but before he could step out, he stopped on his tracks, hesitant. He turned around in order to face Peter, the guilty look back on his face.

“But really, kid”, he added, sounding apologetic. “I’m sorry for letting that happen to you”.

Peter felt a sudden urge to cry, even though he didn’t really know why. He took a deep, shaky breath and did his best not to let his face fall.

“It’s ok, Hap”, he said, nodding reassuringly at the man. “It wasn’t your fault. I don’t blame you”, he added, just to be extra clear. Happy nodded briefly and lowered his head, not looking like he quite believed Peter’s words. “But if it makes you feel better, I forgive you? Even though there’s nothing to forgive?”, Peter added, in the hopes that it would lift Happy’s spirits. The driver raised his head, meeting Peter’s eyes and looking unusually emotional. If Peter didn’t know him better – if he didn’t know this was _Happy_ –, he would have thought he was fighting back tears.

“Yeah, fine, ok, kid”, Happy said dismissively, looking away from Peter and shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’ll go get your icky pizza”, he announced stepping out of the room. “You get some rest, ok?”

“Ok”, Peter said from the bed, trying to sound as cheerful as he could. “Thanks, Happy!”

The door closed behind the man and Peter was left alone once again in the room. As soon as Happy was gone, Peter allowed his face to fall, feeling strained. He thought his interaction with the driver had turned out way better than his interaction with Rhodes, and maybe that had to do with the fact that he was more well-rested, even though his sleep was still plagued with nightmares. Either way, he was clearly getting better at pretending he was fine. Talking to Happy had been tiring and emotionally demanding, yes, but not as much as it had been to talk to Rhodes. Maybe this had to do with the fact that, even though Happy constantly acted as if Peter was the most annoying person he had ever met, he still knew him better than he knew Rhodes. Even in the days Peter didn’t see Mr. Stark, he still almost always saw Happy. They hung out together, and ate together, and Peter usually ranted and blabbered about anything and everything to Happy, even if the man didn’t listen to him or reply to his texts. Maybe Peter was just better at lying to people he was closer to – May and Happy – and had more difficulty to do so with people he didn’t know that well – Rhodes.

He wondered if he would find it easy to lie to Mr. Stark, but there was no way to really find out anymore.

Happy returned after a while with the pizza, but Peter pretended to be sleeping. He felt a bit bad for wasting Happy’s time and money like that, but he was feeling too tired to keep pretending to be fine and happy, as if nothing had happened. Plus, this wasn’t even the worst lie he had come up with in the past days.

As he heard the sound of Happy leaving the room, taking Peter’s favorite pepperoni with olives pizza with him, he vaguely wondered if he would really have any excuses to keep seeing or talking to the driver, now that Mr. Stark didn’t want to have anything to do with Spider-Man anymore.

 

 

 

 

 

Doctor Cho removed the pins from his healing leg and encased it in a cast, but it was more out of formalities than anything else. It didn’t matter how rich Tony was, or how competent Cho was – having a compound fracture heal fully in three days was still more than Aunt May would probably believe. The leg was almost fully healed, but Dr. Cho told him that it would be best to wait for a week until resuming his normal daily-life activities. He could go to school and follow his regular Peter Parker routine, but she didn’t want him to act as Spider-Man or go on patrols for at least a week, which was the amount of time he would still need to wear the cast for. After that, he was free to remove the cast and only wear it in his aunt’s presence, in order to keep discretion and not raise her suspicion. Thankfully, May worked out and they only saw each other during mornings and evenings, so Peter shouldn’t have a hard time wearing the cast for just a few minutes a day.

Leaving the Stark Industries med bay was… weird. Mr. Stark didn’t show up, as Peter had predicted, even though a tiny sparkle of hope had continued to shine inside his chest until he was out of the building and in the car with Happy and May. Rhodes had walked him out and offered him reassuring smiles and pats on the back, even giving him his phone number and telling him he was free to call anytime, in case he needed to talk. Peter still felt a bit awkward around Tony’s best friend, but he managed to give Rhodes a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Cho repeated her warning, when they were away from Aunt May’s ears, that he was not to act as Spider-Man for at least a week, lest the injury on his leg be aggravated. Peter’s metabolism was ridiculously enhanced, meaning his body had taken care of a severe compound fracture in a matter of days, but it would still be pushing his luck to enter close combat with criminals after less than a week of having his leg hurt. She also told him that he could have access to a professional, discreet therapist, should he need to talk to someone about what had happened to him.

Peter had told Cho, Rhodes, and May that he hadn’t been really tortured by Gargan, but that statement only earned him sad, worried glances and pitying looks. Apparently, having your wrists tied up with wire, getting beat up and being locked in a freezer for two hours qualified as torture. Peter had always associated torture with waterboarding, electrocution, and severed toe-nails. Since he had suffered from none of those, he didn’t think his experience really qualified as _torture_ torture. Either way, he nodded his gratitude at Cho and repeated the words that were becoming familiar to his tired lips: “don’t worry, I’m fine, I’ll be ok, I just need some time”, and then he was cleared out of her care and into the car with Happy and his aunt. Peter vaguely wondered if that was the last time he would ever get a ride with Happy.

Life went back to normal after that, or as normal as it could be to him.

Getting back to school kind of felt like life before Spider-Man, if he was being honest. First, because he couldn’t be Spider-Man for the time being – all he could be was Peter Parker, pathetic Peter Parker, the weak boy with no popularity, no parents, no strength. Wearing a cast to school didn’t help his case, because bullies had no sympathy and, this way, they just had a brand-new reason to mock him. But to Peter, the worst part of getting back to school after everything that happened was the fact that he had to lie. What was he supposed to say? _Hey guys, remember Liz? So, funny story, her dad had me kidnapped this week and I was apparently ‘tortured’ and almost died because I got locked in a freezer for two hours with a compound fracture on my leg! Anyway, what’s been up with you guys?_ Yeah, like that was going to happen. This meant he would have to come up with even more lies, as if his pile wasn’t already full of that. He low-key wished he could get a break from everything and just be himself without having to make up stories and so many _lies_ all the time.

Ned, of course, didn’t buy Peter’s excuse of “ohh I was super distracted crossing the street and got hit by a car but I’m ok now just need some time to recover”, and as predicted, approached his best friend as soon as they had a break on the first day Peter returned to school.

“How are you, dude?”, was the first thing Ned asked Peter as soon as they sat side by side on the cafeteria. “I’ve been calling May like crazy these past few days. She didn’t tell me what happened to you and I’ve been losing my mind over this, Peter! What really happened to your leg? I know you weren’t ran over by a car, was it… you know”, he leaned towards Peter, looking around and lowering his tone of voice to a whisper. “ _Spider-Man business_?”

Peter sighed, allowing his shoulders to slump. He knew that there was no easy way out of this – Ned wouldn’t accept a shitty excuse, not when he knew Peter’s secret – but Peter didn’t want to talk about everything that had happened. Not only because it was hard talking about it, and not only because he didn’t want Ned to know he was a murderer and lose his best friend in the world. Losing Mr. Stark had already been enough. No, he couldn’t talk about it because he knew just how worried Ned would be. And, yeah, well, if he was being honest, Ned would probably be worried if Peter refused to tell him what had happened, but it would be better than to let his friend know that he had been… well. _That_. He didn’t like using that particular T-word.

“I’m fine, Ned”, Peter said conversationally, not even bothering to put up a mask this time. Ned wouldn’t buy it anyway. He unpacked his lunch and took a tentative bite, not feeling really hungry but forcing himself to eat anyway. He would need the energy if he wanted to get back to Spider-Man activity anytime soon.

“Dude, you’re not _fine_ ”, Ned insisted, brow creasing in worry. “I mean, I can see it. Something happened to you, and I’m thinking something serious, because no one will tell me what it is”, he shook his head, looking around again as if to make sure no one was listening to their conversation. “Did May find out? About, you know, the whole spider thing?”, he asked, sounding concerned. Peter sighed.

“No, she doesn’t know anything”, he said, continuing to eat his lunch and not meeting his friend’s eyes. “I just _don’t_ want to talk about this, ok? Not right now, at least”, he added, trying to sound as serious as possible. When he turned to face Ned, his friend had a deeply concerned look in his eyes, one that almost managed to surpass his curiosity. He, however, nodded his acknowledgement, respectful of Peter’s wish – and probably realizing that the situation must be more serious than he first thought.

“Yeah, ok”, he agreed, taking a bite of his own lunch. “Sure, ok. But… Just…”, he hesitated for a moment. Peter feared he was about to insist again, letting the curiosity take the best of him, but before he could protest, Ned continued. “Just know that I’m here, ok? Whatever it is that happened to you. If you want to talk about it… I’m here”, he nudged at Peter’s arm with his elbow, playful. “I’m your guy in the chair”.

A soft smile rose to Peter’s lips at this, and he felt silently grateful for having such an amazing best friend. Maybe he would be able to tell Ned about what had happened to him at some point in the future, when his wounds were no longer wounds but scars, and when he could no longer feel the crippling pain of having his leg split almost in half every time he fell asleep.

The smile died sourly on his lips when Flash and his ever growing band of bullies entered the cafeteria and headed straight to where Peter and Ned were sitting, the former’s casted leg stretched on the bench in front of him for support.

“Hey, Penis Parker”, Flash greeted, earning a laugh from his ‘friends’. Peter simply rolled his eyes and Ned downright scowled. “Your little holiday break is over?”

“Get lost, Flash”, Ned said, sounding braver than he usually was in the face of bullies. Maybe the fact that Peter was injured and clearly troubled by what had happened to him had stirred a defensive side on his friend.

“Shut up, Ned”, Flash spat back at the boy, disdain evident on his face. “No one was talking to you. But that’s usual, isn’t it?”, he provoked, earning another series of laughter. Peter continued to eat in silence, and Ned fell silent beside him as well. “Well, hope you had a good time during your break, Parker”, Flash continued, crossing his arms above his chest. “While you were fooling around at home, some of us were actually studying and working hard to have a nice future. But I guess commitment isn’t really your word, is it?”, he scoffed. “Oh, wait, I totally forgot. Mr. Stark is going to pay for you to go to MIT, isn’t he?”, he chuckled, a malicious look on his face. Peter’s gaze dropped. “Yeah, I keep forgetting that you’re pals with Tony Stark. So that’s why you don’t have to worry about showing up to the decathlon practice, right? Your rich pal got it all covered for you?”

“I never said that”, Peter muttered under his breath, not quite meeting Flash’s – or anyone else’s – eyes. The last thing he needed was to be teased about his relationship with Tony Stark on that moment, of all things. His hands started to tremble and he tucked them into his thick sweater sleeves.

“You don’t need to _say it_ , Penis Parker”, Flash laughed. “Everyone can see how highly you think of yourself just because you got that so-called Stark Internship. I, personally, think it’s all bogus”, he scoffed, earning nods of agreement from his friends.

“No one cares what you think, Flash”, Ned stepped up again, probably noticing the way Peter’s face had paled. If anything, Flash was right. His internship at Stark Industries _was_ bogus. And now, it was non-existent. He just didn’t need someone throwing that on his face, especially not after everything that had happened. Thinking about Mr. Stark – thinking about his rejection – hurt more than Peter could possibly put into words. His lower lip began to quiver, but he didn’t want to lose composure in front of Flash and his bully friends. So, instead, Peter put away what was left of his lunch and stood up, ready to head out of the cafeteria – even if he would have to do so slowly, because of his casted leg.

“Shut up, Leeds, your girlfriend can defend herself”, one of the bullies backing Flash up spat out, earning a laugh from the rest of them. Ned huffed out an annoyed breath.

“Yeah, Parker, you can defend yourself”, Flash said, grabbing Peter’s wrist as if to prevent him from running away. “Where are you going? Don’t you have anything to say?”

“Let go, Flash”, Peter hissed in discomfort as Flash’s grip pressured the tender skin of his wrists. The wounds from the wires were completely healed, but that didn’t mean Peter was ok with people grabbing at his wrists so little time after everything. Flash did let him go at the protest, but he did so with a scornful smile.

“Sure, yeah”, he scoffed, shaking his head with something akin to disgust on his face. “You run away. I bet that was how you got ran over by that car, huh? You were probably running away, like you always do”, he teased.

“Yeah, he must have been running away from Stark”, one of the bullies added.

“’Oh, no, Mr. Stark, I don’t want to be your intern, I’m too good for your multimillion dollar company!’”, one of them mocked in a high-pitched voice that was a very poor imitation of Peter. The group laughed. Ned packed away his lunch as well and stood up, ready to help Peter out of the cafeteria.

“C’mon, Peter”, Ned said, giving Flash and his bad one final disapproving glare before placing one helpful hand beneath Peter’s elbow. “Don’t listen to these jackasses. They probably don’t get enough attention from their parents, and decide to take it out on other people”, he said just a bit too loudly, meaning to be overheard.

“Well, at least I have parents”, Flash shot back, shrugging and smiling widely as Peter limped slowly towards the exit of the cafeteria, Ned close on his heels. “What about you, Penis Parker? Can you say the same?”

“Not cool, Flash”, Ned shook his head, and if looks could kill, Flash would have gotten fulminated by Peter’s best friend on that moment. “Not cool”.

“ _You two_ aren’t cool”, Flash shot back, laughing along his friends. “You guys are lame!”

“Are you ok, Peter?”, Ned asked once they were out of Flash’s hearing range, just outside the cafeteria. Peter didn’t meet his eyes, his face blank of emotion.

“Yeah. I’m good”, he said simply, voice lacking conviction.

“Peter”, Ned tried, put Peter sighed loudly in interruption, lowering his head before meeting Ned’s gaze.

“Look, this isn’t the first time he’s teased me about my parents”, he said, nonchalant, even though there was something sad glistening in his eyes. “I’ll be ok. They’re just a bunch of bullies, I won’t let them get to me. I’m fine, ok? I’m fine”, he said decisively. Ned continued to stare at him, one of his hands still propping Peter’s elbow.

“You’re shaking”, Ned said simply, matter-of-factly. Peter lowered his head in order to stare at his hands, which were still half-tucked into the sweater sleeves. Upon Ned’s notice, Peter crossed his arms above his chest, shoving his trembling hands beneath his armpits. Ned continued to stare at him with worry. “Look”, he said, sounding serious. “I know you said you don’t want to talk about what happened, and I’m not asking you to, but Peter, dude”, he shook his head. “I’m worried about you. You’re clearly _not_ ok”, he pointed out. Peter bit his lower lip in frustration and looked away.

“But I will be”, he managed to respond after a few moments, trying to recompose himself. He couldn’t break down at that moment. Not at school. Not in front of Ned. Not like that. “Seriously, Ned. You don’t have to worry about me”, he managed to offer his friend a tiny smile that he hoped was reassuring enough. “I’m a tough guy. I’m – I’m Spider-Man, remember?”, he tried.

“Yeah”, Ned nodded, a melancholic look in his eyes. “But you’re Peter Parker, too”.

The smile died down on Peter lips. Yes, he was Peter Parker, too. But he low-key wished he wasn’t. Because Peter Parker had always been a loser, and a wimpy nerd, and a friendless, parentless waste of space, but now? Now not only was he that, but he was also a murderer. Spider-Man was none of that. Spider-Man was the friend of the neighborhood, the cool guy who saved cats from trees and helped lost old ladies and stopped bike robbers. Spider-Man was good. Peter Parker wasn’t. Spider-Man was a hero. Peter Parker was a liar. And no matter how bad he felt, he could never explain that to Ned – not without ruining the image his friend had of him. He was in the same catch-22 with Ned as he was with May.

Luckily for him, the alarm rang at that moment and he didn’t have to give Ned any other sort of explanation. His best friend silently helped him limp his way to his next class, and then they parted for the day. Peter could only hope that, on the next morning, Ned would have forgotten about that unpleasant subject or at least would be respectful enough to drop it.

 

 

 

 

 

When he stepped out of the school, there was a familiar car waiting for him.

Peter couldn’t say that his heart didn’t pick up its pace once he recognized Happy’s car – or rather, Mr. Stark’s car that Happy drove – parked right outside Midtown Tech, waiting for him. He had frankly not expected to ever see Happy again after he dropped him and May at their place on the day before, and yet there he was, his usual sunglasses placed on his face and a slightly annoyed look that read ‘why are you taking so long kid, I’ve been waiting forever for you’. Peter slowly limped his way towards the car, stopping in front of the driver’s seat instead of stepping into the vehicle straight away as he usually would. Happy raised a questioning eyebrow at him at this.

“What are you doing, kid? Get in the car, I don’t have all day”, Happy said, leaning one elbow on the open window of the car.

“I – I mean, I – what?”, Peter stuttered, confused. He was really happy to see – well, to see Happy. Seeing him almost made him feel hopeful about seeing Mr. Stark again, but he immediately reprehended himself for that thought. Happy wasn’t there to take him to Tony’s workshop – he… he couldn’t be. “W-What are you doing here, Happy?”, Peter asked, frowning and smiling at the same time, barely managing to hide the confusion from his tone. Happy stared at him as if he had lost his mind.

“I’m giving you a ride? Like I always do?”, Happy explained as if he was speaking to a 4-year-old child. “Peter, get in the car, you know I can’t park here. Are you trying to get me a ticket?”, he added in annoyance.

“Right. Yeah, sorry, right”, Peter nodded, finally breaking off his trance and making a move. He awkwardly removed his backpack from his shoulders and opened the back door of the car, stepping inside with a bit of difficulty because of his leg. When he was finally done, leg awkwardly stretched to the side across the backseat, he closed the door and placed his backpack on the floor.

“So, why the surprise?”, Happy asked, taking off with the car and looking at Peter through the rearview mirror. “I always pick you up on Mondays and Thursdays”.

“I… well, I…”, Peter hesitated. He didn’t want Happy to pity him by saying that he hadn’t really expected to ever see him again now that Mr. Stark clearly despised him, but he didn’t know what he could say instead. For someone who was getting so good at lying, Peter still had trouble to do so when he was caught unprepared. Happy continued to stare at him, but seemed to take pity at his pathetic stuttering.

“Yeah, whatever kid”, he cut Peter off before he could embarrass himself further, much to the boy’s relief. “Look, will you want to grab that horrible sandwich you love so much on the way or what?”, he offered, well aware of how much Peter loved grabbing junk food on the way home. Not wanting to raise suspicion by denying Happy’s request, since he always agreed to grab junk food – and, sometimes, even had to beg Happy to stop on the drive-through –, Peter nodded as emphatically as he could on the backseat, even managing a small smile.

“Yeah, yeah, I will”, Peter said, trying to sound excited. “Extra bacon and pickles”, he added just out of habit.

“I probably know your order from heart by now, but sure, go ahead and repeat it”, Happy commented as he drove. “So, how was school today?”, he asked conversationally. Peter frowned.

His relationship with Happy was complicated. Peter… was almost sure the guy cared about him. Well, after the whole conversation they had when Peter was at the med bay, he was pretty sure, almost certain, that Happy didn’t hate him completely. But Happy had a very specific temperament that Peter had gotten used to overtime. The guy wasn’t a sharer; that much was obvious. He didn’t like showing affection, much like Mr. Stark didn’t, and his way of showing Peter he cared about him was through pretending that he didn’t. Which was why Peter found it so hard to know whether Happy really liked his company or just tolerated him because it was his job to do so. Either way, Peter had an easy-going personality that caused him to run his mouth more often than not, which often resulted on him spilling detail after detail about his daily life on Happy’s ears while he drove him around.

At first, Happy basically begged him to get a grip or at least _talk less_ , but as time went by and they grew accustomed to each other, he began to interact with Peter more. And even though he would usually respond to Peter’s constant, usual rambling, he would never, _ever_ ask Peter about his day. That was something Happy just didn’t do, no matter how much he cared about Peter or genuinely wanted to know. It was Peter who spoke about his day, and when he didn’t, for whatever reason, Happy didn’t ask. The fact that he _was_ asking right now, for the first time ever – that unsettled Peter in a way that he couldn’t quite understand, and if anything, it made his spider-senses tingle into wakefulness.

“It – it was good”, Peter responded hesitantly, suspicion etched all over his voice. “Everyone kept asking about the leg, though. Had to make up a story about being ran over by a car”, he said simply, not going into detail and observing Happy through the rearview mirror. Happy had his eyes fixed on the road ahead, but Peter couldn’t quite see them through the sunglasses.

“Huh”, Happy commented absentmindedly. “That sounds believable”, he added sarcastically. Peter glanced out of the window, noticing that the route Happy was making wasn’t usual. In fact, it led _away_ from the usual McDonald’s they usually stopped by.

“Well, no one there cares too much about what I do, so they bought it”, Peter shrugged absentmindedly, not really paying any attention to his words. It was the truth, and Happy knew it – if there was one thing Peter was constantly complaining about was the bullying.

“That Flash kid been picking on you again?”, Happy asked, giving Peter a careful look over the mirror again. Peter sighed, looking out the window instead of facing Happy and trying to figure out where the hell the man was driving him to.

“Just the usual stuff”, Peter shrugged again, dismissive. He really didn’t want to talk about that, especially not after what Flash had told him. His parents had always been a sensitive subject to him.

“Well, you can tell me if it gets too bad”, Happy said after a few seconds of silence. “We can do something about it”.

Peter continued to stare off the window, not wanting to think about who was ‘we’. Happy took another turn that led them further away from any fast food Peter knew and the boy finally frowned, unable to keep his curiosity and suspicion to himself.

“Happy, where are we going?”, he asked, trying to look at Happy on the front seat as best as he could without disrupting his leg.

“McDonald’s”, Happy said simply, not bothering to look at Peter. The boy arched one eyebrow.

“Yeah, but you already drove past all possible McDonald’s around here”, Peter pointed out suspiciously.

“Oh, right, I forgot to mention we have to make a little stop before we get your junk food”, he added conversationally, as if the thought had just occurred him, even though he had been driving towards that destination from the very beginning.

Peter squinted his eyes. Happy was acting weird – first, asking Peter about his day and then driving him somewhere without telling him about it. There was something very off about this whole story, and Peter had a feeling he wouldn’t like the outcome.

“What little stop?”, he asked, glad he managed to sound firm and not hesitant. Happy, on the other side, looked suddenly very uncomfortable, from what Peter could see through the rearview mirror. He was silent for several moments, until he sighed heavily and pulled over in front of a very tall, very fancy-looking commercial building. “Happy?”, Peter asked, this time sounding very hesitant. He just wanted to understand what was happening.

“Kid”, he started, sighing again. He unfastened his seatbelt and turned on the driver seat, so that he could more-or-less look at Peter on the back one. “I told Tony this wasn’t the best way to do this, but he wouldn’t listen. Since this has to happen anyway, I’m going to cut straight to the point”, he removed his sunglasses. “Up there on the tenth floor there’s a therapist. She’s very discreet, she is used to dealing with superhero issues _and_ she’s been paid obscene amounts of money to be extra-careful about your identity and all. She doesn’t even know your real name”, he explained. Peter felt himself grow pale. “You don’t have to say anything you’re not comfortable with. But everyone agreed it’s best for you to have these sessions, after… what happened”, he concluded.

“Right”, was all Peter could say, blankly. He refused to meet Happy’s eyes, glancing outside the window, instead. He couldn’t say he wasn’t feeling a little betrayed. Instead of telling him where he was taking him right away, Happy had chosen to lie to him about their destination. Not that he could judge anyone for lying, but still, it stung to be fooled like that. Especially because it made him feel, more than ever, like he was nothing more than a stupid kid that needed to be handled like porcelain.

“Tony really wants you to have these sessions”, Happy added, as if that was enough of an argument to convince Peter. The boy continued to stare outside the window. “Something about him not getting proper therapy after Afghanistan, and having issues he doesn’t want you to have to deal with. It’s going to be good for you”, he added, sounding gentler than Peter was used to. He simply sniffed and reached for the door handle, pulling it open and grabbing his backpack from the floor. Happy had the decency to look apologetic about tricking Peter. “Hey, kid”, he called after Peter while he struggled to get out of the car while dragging his leg after him. “We can still grab that junk food after you’re done here, ok?”, he offered, almost as if it was a peace-making offer.

“Yeah, sure”, he said simply, emotionlessly. He stepped out of the car and threw his backpack over his shoulder, turning his back on Happy without bidding him goodbye, like he usually did, and heading into the building.

His primal urge was to head straight to the back exit of the building and go home, but the thought of having to deal with a crowded subway while having a cast on his leg made the idea die down at the back of his head. He could probably just _not go_ to the session and kill some time on the hallway – he did have lots of accumulated homework from all the days he skipped class –, but then the therapist would probably contact Mr. Stark and tell him that Peter hadn’t shown up and he didn’t want to deal with _that_. No, his only choice was to go to the damn session – Peter figured that even if this therapist was associated with superheroes and with Tony, she still couldn’t break confidentiality and tell anyone about what Peter told her during his time there. Even better – if he didn’t tell her anything, then she would have nothing to report to Mr. Stark, should she actually break doctor-patient confidentiality.

Peter made a resolve. He would go to the session, since he had no other choice, but he would tell the therapist nothing. Mr. Stark probably thought that he could help Peter – that he could keep him from murdering other people – through these therapy sessions, but he was wrong. Firstly, because Peter would never, ever take another life again, and secondly, because no one could help him. No amount of therapy or professional help would change what he had done, no matter how much money Mr. Stark spent on that. And on the top of everything, if Mr. Stark really cared, why wasn’t he there? Why hadn’t he been there for Peter ever since he took him out of that freezer?

He tiredly limped into the elevator and pressed the button to the tenth floor, thankful that no one else was in there with him – which was odd, because this was a business building in the middle of the neighborhood; the elevator should be _crowded_ with people. Once the doors opened with a ping, Peter stepped out and found himself standing in the middle of a very fancy lobby, covered in a dark carpet and screaming “money” at him. There were even paintings hanging from the wall, and the velvet chair at the waiting area looked more expensive than his apartment. Peter hesitantly approached the reception desk, finding a very young blond woman typing something down on her computer. She looked up at him once he entered her field of vision, and after studying him from head to toe with a curious look on her face – probably wondering what a clearly poor boy with disheveled clothes, a second-hand backpack, and a broken leg was doing in her fancy office –, a smile blossomed on her lips.

“Are you Mr. Stark’s kid?”, she asked sympathetically. Peter felt blood rush to his face at this, not sure what he was supposed to say. Happy had mentioned the therapist didn’t know his real name, a courtesy which probably extended to the rest of her staff as well. He hesitated, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. _Was_ he Mr. Stark’s kid? He might have said yes without a second of doubt had this question been asked to him a week before, but now, after everything, he wasn’t so sure anymore. Probably sensing his hesitation and awkwardness, the receptionist gave him an apologetic smile. “I mean, did Mr. Stark send you?”, she rephrased it, trying to be clearer.

“Y-Yes”, Peter managed to respond this time, unable to keep himself from blushing. He looked away from the receptionist and down to his feet instead, hating how out-of-balance he felt because of the broken leg. The woman typed something down at her computer and looked up at him again.

“Alright. You can come with me, Doctor Kaplan is ready for you”, she announced, getting up from the chair and indicating for Peter to follow her. He did so, wishing he could walk faster and straighter instead of limping his way through the fancy, rich corridor of the office. Like that, he felt even more out-of-place than ever, as if his economical background wasn’t already enough to make him the odd-one-out.

When he first started going over to Tony’s, he had felt the same way. It took Peter a long time to get used to fancy houses, fancy furniture, fancy _everything_. He didn’t know that life. He wasn’t used to that life. All he knew ever since he could remember was Uncle Ben working his ass off to give him and May a comfortable life, and Aunt May, who had been working ever since she was a teen, having to take on that toll after her husband died. All Peter knew was the woman who had raised him having to work double, sometimes even triple shifts, just so that she could afford their small apartment at Queens and buy him basic necessities. He remembered one year where he barely even saw Aunt May during the weeks, and later found out that the reason behind that was because she had been working on two different places just so that she could buy him a better Christmas present. So yeah, Peter wasn’t used to a rich life, with rich things and rich houses. He hadn’t even known anyone rich, before Tony, apart from Flash and his gang of bullies. So growing closer to Mr. Stark had certainly been a change in his life.

Even though everything still felt a bit off for him, he grew used to Tony’s wealth. He grew used to the constant presence of robots, and holotables, and technology that stretched far beyond anything he could ever imagine getting in touch with someday. Tony’s richness had become a constant in Peter’s life, even though he never accepted money from his… well. His former mentor.

The thing was: Mr. Stark’s fanciness was something familiar to Peter. Something he was used to, something he knew how to deal with. Something that didn’t make him feel inadequate, or out of place, or like an outcast, no matter how contrasting it was to his own lifestyle. Mr. Stark’s richness was comforting to him, even. But Doctor Kaplan’s wasn’t.

The office made him feel like he was a stray dog wandering into a palace, and his stomach twisted painfully. His hands were starting to sweat and he wanted nothing more than to leave that place, to go back home and bury himself beneath at least four blankets. He shivered, feeling cold and uncomfortable. He didn’t want to talk to Doctor Kaplan. He didn’t want to have to be there.

But the person he really wanted to talk to didn’t want to talk to him.

The receptionist indicated the door and Peter thanked her with a small smile, waiting until the woman was back at the reception desk before daring to knock on the tall mahogany door. His lifted his hand and allowed it to hover midair, hesitating. He could just leave. He could turn around, go back into the elevator and leave though the back door without letting Happy see him. But in honesty, there was nowhere he could go. There was nowhere he was safe.

In the past, his safe place had been Mr. Stark’s workshop. Whenever he had a rough day at school or some silly fight with May, he would go there, and Tony would take him in with coffee mugs and science lessons that he loved more than anything. He would let Peter run tests and teach him how to use things, and sometimes, if he was lucky, he would even get to mess around with Dum-E. Tony would take him to have ice creams or whatever junk food Peter felt like eating on the moment to make him feel better, and Happy would pretend to be annoyed that he had to drive them around Queens in order to get themselves pizza or nasty hamburgers. A week before, had Peter felt so anxious and displaced and so utterly alone, he would have turned to Mr. Stark. But now, the closest he could get to the man he loved as a father was talking to the completely unfamiliar therapist he had assigned to Peter.

He sighed and knocked at the door, feeling defeated and miserable. A moment later, a female voice told him to come in.

Peter stepped into the office, feeling more inadequate than ever. He wasn’t supposed to be there. He didn’t fit in there. He wanted to leave. However, he put a polite, small smile on his face as he closed the tall wooden door behind him and turned on his heels to face Doctor Kaplan. The therapist smiled back and indicated he could take the seat in front of her, which he did. He awkwardly placed his nasty backpack, which contrasted terribly with the fancy tapestry, on the floor beside the chair, and was surprised when Doctor Kaplan stood up and placed a support in front of him so that he could stretch his casted leg.

“Thank you”, Peter said politely, not really meeting her eyes.

“You’re welcome”, Doctor Kaplan said. She returned to her seat and crossed her hands on the top of the table in front of her, studying Peter with a curious expression on her face. “I’m Doctor Rebbecca Kaplan”, she announced after a few moments of silent assessment. Peter looked up at her. “I wasn’t told your name for a matter of confidentiality – Mr. Stark is very thorough when it comes to the safety of the people he cares about”, she continued, face unreadable. Peter tried his best to keep his own face unreadable, because he didn’t appreciate her lying to his face. He didn’t fit into the category of people Mr. Stark cared about – not anymore, at least. “Is there an alias you would like me to call you during our sessions?”, she asked politely. Peter hesitated again, swallowing dry.

“Uh”, he mumbled, unsure. The least she knew about him, the better. But when he wondered about other name he could use – other name he could go by – all he could think about were the important men in his life. He couldn’t ask her to call him Tony, because that would be downright ridiculous – Tony had been the one to hire her. He though about asking her to call him Ned, but somehow that didn’t feel right. Plus, he wouldn’t want to get Ned in trouble and be taken for him should anything about these sessions leak out. That only left him with one option. “Ben. You can call me Ben”, he said, a bit more quietly than he had intended. Doctor Kaplan studied him with attention and wrote something down on her notepad.

“Alright, Ben”, she smiled friendly at Peter, who returned the gesture without putting too much effort into it. “What would you like to talk about today?”

Peter frowned, confused. He had never been to a therapist before – he had been too young when his parents died to need one, and even if May felt like he could use the help after he grew up, she had never been able to afford it. He didn’t know how these sessions worked, but he had expected _her_ to lead him, and not the other way around. Probably sensing his confusion, Doctor Kaplan smiled again and shifted on the chair.

“I would like to get to know you better”, she explained patiently. “I have experience dealing with superpowered individuals and, even though Mr. Stark did not tell me anything about your real or secret identity, I understand that you must have gone through a traumatic-level event in order for him to send you to me”, she gave him a pointed look. Peter averted her eyes for a moment before meeting them again, uncomfortable. “You don’t have to tell me anything you are not comfortable with, but it’s important for you to know that these sessions are meant to help you cope with what happened to you. I will not, in any way, tell anyone inside or outside my office about anything you talk to me about. Even though you are a minor, Mr. Stark has made it painstakingly clear that I am not to break doctor-patient confidentiality, no matter the circumstances. Do you understand what that means?”, she asked him. Peter looked away again, staring at the wall instead.

“Yeah”, he said simply.

“That means I cannot legally tell anyone about anything you tell me inside this room”, she explained anyway. “Not even Mr. Stark. Does that make you feel more comfortable?”, she tilted her head to the side. Peter swallowed dry again, feeling tired. He nodded simply. ““That’s good. My first priority is making sure you feel comfortable, all right, Ben? This should be a safe space for you”.

He wanted to scoff or laugh bitterly at this, but stayed silent instead. The last thing he needed was for her to star asking questions he didn’t want to answer, and so far, she hadn’t been intrusive yet. He would be thankful for small miracles.

“Now. What would you like to talk about in our first session?”, she repeated her question from before, staring at him expectantly. Peter lowered his eyes again. He didn’t want to talk about anything. He honestly wished Doctor Kaplan was a nosy, horrible person – this way, he wouldn’t feel so bad about ignoring her questions and sitting there in silence for an hour, which was his plan. She continued to stare at him, silence so overwhelming inside the room it made him feel like he was being crushed. After a minute passed and Peter said nothing, Doctor Kaplan shifted on her chair. “Ok. Why don’t you tell me a bit more about yourself? What kind of music do you like to hear?”, she tried, clearly trying to urge something – anything – out of him. Peter remained silent, but he figured it couldn’t really hurt to answer this kind of question. As much as he wanted to, he found that he couldn’t really hold a grudge against Doctor Kaplan for something as simple as doing her job.

“I like Ramones”, Peter shrugged. “And pop music”.

“Ramones? That’s nice”, Doctor Kaplan smiled sympathetically. “They are a bit older than you, though. How did you get to know them?”

Peter’s face fell and he immediately regretted bringing the subject up or even replying to Doctor Kaplan’s question in the first place. He just liked the band so much that the answer felt more instinctive than anything. If she noticed his discomfort, she said nothing, and continued to stare at Peter as she waited for a response. He refused to meet her eyes again.

“I, um. Well. Mr. Stark showed me”, Peter admitted, voice quiet and low. Doctor Kaplan simply nodded and took more notes, waiting for Peter to continue. “He was sort of outraged about my music taste and showed me a lot of bands he likes”.

“And Ramones was one of them?”, Doctor Kaplan asked. Peter fidgeted with the hem of his sweater, anxious and uncomfortable.

“Not really”, he admitted. The therapist tilted her head to the side in curiosity. “He actually hates Ramones, but he thought I’d like it, so he showed it to me anyway”, he explained in a small voice. The memory made his heart twitch in pain and nostalgia. Tony had made him sit through hours of AC/DC, Black Sabbath and Metallica as they worked, despite of Peter’s many protests. He could still remember the way the billionaire had smirked as he said ‘as much as it pains me, you’re going to love this, kid’ and shifted the playlist to Ramones. And Peter _had_ loved it. He held back a sigh.

“You must have a close relationship with Mr. Stark, right?”, Doctor Kaplan asked, breaking Peter away from the memory. The boy paled as he looked up at the woman, face unreadable. “Would you like to talk about that?”, she asked, looking patient. He swallowed dry several times and tried his best to control his breathing before speaking up.

“I –“, he hesitated. “N-Not really, no”, he said, feeling brave. Doctor Kaplan nodded her acknowledgement, but still tilted her head to the side in curiosity.

“Is there a reason why?”, she insisted. Peter tucked his hands into the hem of his sweater and crossed his arms above his chest, assuming a defensive posture. He wanted to leave. He wanted to go away and not have to talk about painful things. He wanted _not_ to remember Mr. Stark and how he was like a father to him. He wanted _not_ to think about how he had disappointed Mr. Stark, and how Mr. Stark probably hated him. He wanted _not_ to think about Mr. Stark at all. He took in a shaky breath that probably sounded pathetic and shifted on the chair, bouncing his good leg without really noticing he was doing it. Doctor Kaplan noticed his discomfort and raised a calming hand at him.

“It’s ok”, she reassured him, even though Peter didn’t feel exactly reassured. “We don’t have to talk about this. We can talk about something else”.

Peter tilted his head to the side, facing away from the therapist. His heart was racing and he was feeling cold. He needed another sweater, or maybe a blanket. He needed to be out of there. He had so much homework to do. Doctor Kaplan clicked her tongue and set her pen down beside her notepad, intertwining her fingers again.

“You know what”, she said calmly, in a friendly tone. “How about we call this a day?”, she suggested, offering Peter a patient smile. “We still have a lot of sessions ahead of us. We don’t need to rush into things, or do everything in just one day. Also, your time is almost up”, she raised an eyebrow, as if trying to guess whether Peter was pleased by that offer or not.

Peter finally met her eyes again, a silent look of gratitude overwhelming his eyes. He knew his time was definitely not almost up – they still had around half an hour to go –, but he also knew that he wouldn’t get much accomplished during his first session. Kaplan probably knew that, too. He nodded vehemently and shifted on the chair, ready to grab his backpack and leave.

“Wait just a moment”, he raised a calming hand at him, chuckling. Peter froze halfway through grabbing his backpack, staring at her. “I’m not sure if you have been told about your chronogram”, Doctor Kaplan continued. “But you are required to have weekly sessions for the minimum of four months. Your sessions have been scheduled for Mondays after school, but we can find a better day for you, if you’d like”.

“No”, Peter nodded quietly, desperate to just leave. “Mondays are ok”.

“Alright”, she nodded back. “I’ll ask my secretary to give you a contact number in case you need to cancel or reschedule our meetings. You can also contact me if you need anything, ok?”, she offered him another smile.

“Ok”, Peter smiled back, even though it felt a little fake even to him. “Thank you”.

“You’re welcome”, she replied simply. “Is there anything else you would like to talk about before we call it a day?”, she offered with an expectant stare.

“Uh, no”, Peter admitted, glad that he was managing to be honest for once. Fearing that he may have come off as rude or uninviting, he added, putting on a sympathetic smile: “Like you said, we still have a, uh, a lot of time to get to know each other”, he nodded. Doctor Kaplan nodded back and continued to offer him a soft, almost sympathetic smile.

“Would you like me to help you out?”, she offered, nodding at his casted leg as he struggled to remove it from the top of the support and finally get to his feet.

“No, it’s ok”, Peter immediately said. The last thing he wanted was to feel even weaker and more inadequate by having someone help him walk. “I can do it”.

“I will see you next week, then”, she nodded briefly. Peter stood up, albeit a little wobbly, and threw his backpack over his shoulder.

“See you, doc”, he said, giving her another one of his fake tiny smiles and heading out of the door. When Peter turned to close the door behind himself, Doctor Kaplan was back at writing something down on her notepad. He lowered his eyes and limped his way to the lobby. He was about to head straight to the elevator when the secretary who had showed him to Doctor Kaplan’s office called after him.

“Wait!”, she said, calling Peter’s attention. He turned around and looked at her with confusion, noticing she was hurrying towards him with a card in hands. “Doctor Kaplan asked me to give you this. This is the number of the office”, she indicated to the front of the card. “And this is Doctor Kaplan’s personal number, if you need”, she turned the card around, showing Peter a phone number written in a neat calligraphy. He took the card with his sweater covered hands and gave the secretary a smile that felt a bit truer than his previous ones.

“Thanks”, he nodded at her, holding the card close. She smiled back at him.

“No biggie”, she shrugged. Peter noticed that she couldn’t be too much older than him, maybe two or three years, tops. He vaguely wondered how someone so young had found a job at such a fancy place.

“Uh, bye, then”, he said awkwardly, immediately cursing himself for sounding so weird. She waved a hand at him as she headed back towards the reception desk.

“Bye”, she said simply, a dimple popping on one of the sides of her cheek. Peter nodded and stood awkwardly in the middle of the lobby, staring down at Doctor Kaplan’s card, before limping towards the elevator. As soon as the door pinged closed, he shoved the therapist card inside his backpack and decided to postpone thinking about it for as long as he could.

Happy was understandably surprised when Peter entered the car with the same difficulty as before, shoving his backpack to the floor and stretching his broken leg across the backseat. He leaned his back on the door of the car and crossed his arms above his chest, careful to tuck his hands beneath his armpits in order to keep them warm. Happy frowned at him through the rearview mirror.

“Back already?”, he asked, the slightest hint of suspicion in his voice.

“Yeah”, Peter said simply, wanting to be passive aggressive in order to let Happy know he didn’t appreciate the man tricking him into going to a therapist, but at the same time wanting to act normal in order not to raise suspicion to his odd behavior. He sighed and covered his eyes with the crook of one elbow, leaning his head back on the car window. “First session, not much to talk about”, he shrugged, aware that his tone didn’t sound very convincing, even though he was telling the truth.

“Still”, Happy said, taking a look at his wristwatch. “There should be half an hour left. You’re always running your mouth, how come you managed to cut an hour-long appointment short?”, he glanced at Peter through the mirror again, but this time it was concern coating his tone. Peter sighed once again.

“Guess I was too eager to get to McDonald’s already”, Peter said. That was the kind of teasing he would usually do with Happy. He hoped the lack of playfulness in his tone would go unnoticed by the driver, who was still watching him closely through the mirror. Eventually, Happy sighed, defeated, and started the car.

“Fine, kid”, he gave in. “Let’s get you your sugar. But I don’t want you skipping appointments just so you can get to McDonald’s sooner, you hear me?”, he warned almost fatherly. Peter felt his heart grow a bit warmer. He really liked Happy, and his tendency not to pry too much into Peter’s life. If it had been May, she would be asking him hundreds of questions about why the appointment had ended half an hour earlier.

“Can’t make any promises”, Peter jested from the backseat, feeling a bit more like himself as he did so. He still felt miserable and isolated, but having Happy pick him up from school and tease him and grab food with him restored a bit of the normalcy that had been lacking from his life ever since Gargan and his crew drugged him and shoved him in the back of a van. Plus, maybe if Happy thought he was back to normal and told Mr. Stark so, Peter would no longer be forced to go to these appointments with Doctor Kaplan. “You know how much I love McDonald’s”, he added matter-of-factly.

“Yes, I do, which is why I constantly wonder how the _hell_ you manage to keep these abs”, Happy commented bitterly. “That’s not fair”.

“Spider privileges”, Peter chuckled, the sound coming out a bit more genuine than his previous attempts. Happy scoffed.

“Need to get myself a radioactive spider”, he mumbled, shaking his head.

“Ned said the same thing”, Peter commented, fishing his phone out of his pocket. There was a new text from Ned asking how he was feeling, one from May telling him to be safe and let her know when he got home, and, as expected, none from Mr. Stark. Mr. Stark always texted him when he knew Peter was out of school. But he guessed he would just have to get used to not receiving those kinds of texts anymore.

Usually, on Mondays, Peter went over to Tony’s workshop before he started the daily patrols. Now, however, he recognized the route Happy was taking. He was driving Peter home.

“So, how’s the leg, kid?”, Happy asked after a few moments of silence, trying to start conversation. Peter hummed as he put his phone away.

“Doesn’t really hurt anymore”, he admitted. “I have some spikes now and then, but the painkillers help. I can barely feel it anymore”.

“Eh, you’ll recover fast enough”, Happy said, tone a bit reassuring. “Spider privileges”.

“Spider privileges”, Peter chuckled again. His thumbs played with the hem of his sweater and he tucked his hands into it.

“You know, when I was a boxer, I got my leg broken this one time”, Happy continued, driving into the McDonald’s drive-through. “It wasn’t nearly as bad as yours was, but it was pretty painful. I can still remember the pain, if I try”, he scoffed, lowering the driver’s window in order to make their order. He already knew what Peter’s favorite sandwich was by heart, and repeated the order without missing a beat. Once he was done, he closed the window back up. “Sometimes I used to dream about it, after I was recovered. I could clearly feel the pain, as if my leg was being broken all over again”.

Peter stared straight ahead as Happy talked, taking in the words and considering them. He was a bit relieved to know that he wasn’t the only one who still felt the pain of having his leg broken during sleep. It made him feel a little less odd, and a bit more accepted.

“Did it take too long to stop?”, Peter asked quietly.

“What? The pain?”, Happy asked.

“No, the dreams”, Peter explained. “Did they go on for too long?”

Happy was silent for a while, as if thinking of an answer.

“I don’t know”, he finally shrugged. “They stopped after a while. I think once I was done with the boring recovering process, I stopped thinking about it, and the dreams stopped happening. The more I thought about the leg, the more I dreamed about it”.

“Oh”, Peter said simply. He hoped that would be his case, too. Having a broken sleep that only lasted a few couple hours every night was beginning to take its toll on him, and he was getting more and more tired as every day passed by. Surely, there were plenty other reasons why he had nightmares, and the leg was just yet another one of them. Even after the break completely healed and he got ridden of the cast, he was sure he would still see a dead Mr. Stark and a dead Uncle Ben every time he closed his eyes to catch some sleep, but at least the pain of his leg would be gone. The other pain would continue, but he guessed he would just have to live with that.

“Do you have those kind of dreams, too?”, Happy asked after another few seconds of silence. Peter hesitated for a beat before nodding silently.

“Yeah”, he admitted, not daring to look at the rearview mirror and meet Happy’s eyes. “Sometimes, I guess”.

Happy watched him silently.

“You wanna talk about it?”, he asked after another pregnant pause, raising an eyebrow at Peter. He looked almost expectant. Peter chuckled bitterly, unable to help himself. He only hoped Happy didn’t detect the sadness in his tone.

“No, not really”, he admitted miserably before he could think better about it. He really didn’t want to talk about that. Before Happy could grow suspicious of his unusual lack of talkativeness, however, or, god forbid, _worry_ about him, Peter put on a smile and leaned forwards on the driver’s seat. He needed to make Happy believe he was fine. “What I _do_ want to talk about is the new Predator movie. Have you watched it yet?”, he hovered above Happy’s shoulder like he usually did whenever he was about to ramble, albeit with a bit of difficulty, given his broken leg.

“Kid, you know I haven’t watched it and I probably never will”, Happy sighed, and even though Peter couldn’t see his face from that angle, he knew the man was eye-rolling. “But since you’re sick, I’ll let you ramble about it”, he added.

“You always let me ramble about stuff”, Peter pointed out.

“It’s not like you stop if I say no”, Happy explained, leaning one elbow out the open window. “But you’d better go ahead before I change my mind and revoke your broken-leg privilege”.

Peter forced himself to ramble not only about the Predator movie, but also about anything and everything that came to his mind. At first, it was exhausting – all he wanted was go home, lie down, and sleep for about eighty years until he felt less shitty about himself and what he’d done –, but at every fake-annoyed comment from Happy and at every new subject he brought up, he started to feel a little less bad about himself. Their sandwiches were delivered and Happy wrapped Peter’s one with several napkins before handing it over to him, as he usually did, before grabbing his own. They ate together as Peter continued to talk about things that didn’t interest Happy in the slightest, mostly sci-fi movies and the new game Ned had told him about recently. Not once did he bring up Mr. Stark, or what had happened to him in the previous days. Happy had the decency not to bring it up either, and once they were done eating their burgers, Happy drove him home.

As he pulled over in front of Peter’s apartment building, Happy finally turned on his seat so that he could more-or-less look Peter in the eyes.

“Is May home yet?”, he asked as Peter gathered his backpack from the floor. The boy blinked dumbly up at him.

“Uh, no”, he said. “She’ll be soon, though. Her shift ends at 8”.

“That’s not soon”, Happy frowned.

“It kind of is when you have four days of homework to do”, Peter chuckled. “Hours fly by”.

“Will you be fine on your own?”, Happy asked, looking concerned. Peter stiffened.

“Yeah”, he said simply, not meeting Happy’s eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. You don’t have to babysit me”, he added just to tease the man. Happy sighed.

“I wasn’t offering to”, he explained, looking resigned. “But I wouldn’t mind to keep you company while May doesn’t arrive”, he added. Peter finally looked up at him, finding that the man was avoiding his eyes, too. He looked almost embarrassed. Peter knew Happy wasn’t a fan of showing he cared, and the fact that he was still trying despite that made his chest feel warm all over again. “It’s not like I have anything else to do for the rest of the day, anyway”, he added a bit defensively, as if trying to justify his offer.

But as much as he liked Happy, he wanted to be alone. He _needed_ to be alone. Because, with Happy, he had to pretend. He had to put a mask on and act like he was fine, like he wasn’t in pain and miserable and missing Mr. Stark. With Happy there, he had to smile, and act like he wasn’t a murderer, pretend he wasn’t a murderer. And even though the afternoon with Happy had been fun, even though it helped Peter to feel normal again, despite of everything; even though it had made him genuinely smile, even if for a bit – it still wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to erase the fact that Gargan was dead, and Peter had killed him, and Mr. Stark didn’t want to talk to him anymore. It wasn’t enough to erase everything that had happened. It wasn’t enough to put things back in tracks.

He just wanted to be alone and allow his mask to drop for a while, at least until May got back.

“It’s ok, Happy”, Peter said, offering the driver a small smile. “I can handle it on my own. I really have a lot of homework to do”, he justified. Happy nodded simply, knowing better than to insist.

“Ok”, he nodded. “Since your leg’s still recovering, I’ll pick you up for the rest of the week”, he announced before Peter could open the door of the car. “At least until it’s completely healed”.

“Oh”, Peter said, unable to hide the fact that he was a little bit shocked about that announcement. He was used to hanging out with Happy, but not every day. Especially not now, when he needed to be alone and have space more than ever. Peter became exhausted just to think about it, but tried his best not to show it, lest he make Happy think he was somehow mad at him. “Alright”, he said blankly.

“See you tomorrow, kid”, Happy said, turning back so that he was sitting properly on the driver’s seat. Peter took the cue and opened the car door, ready to leave. Before he could step out, however, Happy continued: “And remember: no spider-business until next week, ok?”

Peter gave Happy a tiny humorous scoff, nodding his head.

“Yeah, I know”, he said. “I wouldn’t dream of it”.

“Yeah, could have fooled me, kid”, Happy snorted. “Be safe, ok? And text me if you need anything. I’ll answer it this time”, he added. His voice assumed a bit of bitterness at the end.

“Aw, Happy, you don’t have to worry about me, I’m basically a grown up!”, Peter jested as he stepped out, talking to Happy through the open window of the car. The comment was ironic just in the right amount to make Happy roll his eyes again, which had been Peter’s intention.

“No, you’re _definitely_ not”, he sighed, shaking his head in disapproval. “If anything, you’re basically a baby. You’re a spider-baby. A spiderling”, he concluded, sounding pleased with himself.

“Am _not_ ”, Peter protested, giving Happy a fake-offended look.

“Are too”, Happy responded with an unimpressed expression.

“Who’s the baby now?”, Peter raised his eyebrows at Happy’s response. Happy rolled his eyes and sighed heavily.

“Fine, whatever, spider-baby. Just don’t do anything stupid, ok?”, he asked with resignation. Peter chuckled, but nodded his head.

“Yeah, ok, Happy. I’ll be fine”, he reassured.

“Good”, he nodded briefly. “Now go get your homework done. See you tomorrow”, he gestured dismissively at Peter, putting his sunglasses on and starting to close the car window. Peter threw his backpack over his shoulder and headed to the building, opening the door and stepping inside. As he turned around to close the door behind him, he noticed Happy’s car was still there, waiting until he was safely inside. Peter’s heart twisted as he realized that Happy _never_ did that – he usually took off as soon as Peter was out of the car –, and that probably meant he wanted to ensure Peter would actually get home, instead of… well. Being kidnapped again.

As soon as he got to his apartment and locked the door behind him, Peter dropped his backpack to the floor and finally allowed his face to take up a grim expression that mimicked exactly the way he was feeling. He dragged himself to his room, dropping heavily on the bed and ignoring the spike of pain that this caused to go up his leg. He winced loudly, thankful there was no one else home to witness it or worry about the sound, and he closed his eyes just for a moment, feeling exhausted. Pretending to be fine for the entirety of the day had surely taken its toll on him.

May wouldn’t be home for hours and Peter knew that he’d better get going on all the homework he had to do, but he just couldn’t… bring himself to. Homework felt ridiculous and pointless in the face of everything that had happened – in the face of everything that had changed. He felt the urge to cry, but suppressed it. He had no reason to cry – he didn’t deserve to. He really wished he could just talk to someone about everything he was feeling, to let out all those smothering emotions weighting down on his heart and making his chest feel constricted. But he couldn’t. There was no one he could reach out for.

If he talked about everything to Aunt May or Ned, that would result on the only two people who still believed him to be a good person to hate him. If he talked to Happy, he would most definitely tell Mr. Stark about it and make it look like Peter was trying to victimize himself. He didn’t know Rhodes or Doctor Kaplan well enough to just spill his feelings and fears on them. And talking to Mr. Stark – that just wasn’t an option. Mr. Stark didn’t want to talk to him.

Peter ended up falling asleep instead of getting his homework done, and when he woke up in the middle of the night after yet another heart-spiking nightmare, he found that it was nearly 3 a.m. May had arrived from work a long time ago but probably decided not to wake him up, which Peter was slightly thankful for – this was the most rest he had gotten in almost a week. She was already fast asleep in her bedroom, and a blanket had been draped above him by her careful hands. He sighed, cursing himself for wasting time sleeping instead of doing what he had to do, and he idly reached for his phone, which was sitting on the top of his bedside table.

He replied to Ned’s text from earlier, saying that he was perfectly fine and there was no reason to worry about him. There was a new one from MJ asking simply if he would make it to school on Tuesday, because she needed to grab a book from him. He said he’d be there. There were no more new texts for him to go over, which didn’t feel as disappointing as Peter would have expected it to. Who would want to talk to him, anyway?

His eyes found the chat with Mr. Stark, right beneath Ned’s and May’s. The last message in that conversation was the one Peter had sent right before Mr. Stark’s flight, asking him to have a safe trip. There were no other messages after that.

If Peter had known that this would be the last time he would actually text Mr. Stark, he would have thought of something more symbolic to tell him. Something more meaningful, something more special. Something that could make Mr. Stark smile with fondness at the memory of what they had, something that could make Mr. Stark believe that maybe Peter wasn’t so bad as he turned out to be. Something important. Something relevant. Something that showed just how much Peter loved Tony, and how unmeasurably grateful he was for everything Tony had done for him. Something better. Mr. Stark had always wanted him to be better, and he had failed him. He had failed Tony. He wished he could go back in time and type down a text that put into words just how important Mr. Stark was to him.

He wished he could go back in time and change everything that happened.

But it was too late now, and he was stuck with the stupid meaningless text about having a safe trip and several others about noses on emojis. Peter sighed, locked the screen of the phone and put the device away, rubbing at his eyes for just a few moments before standing up from the bed and looking for his backpack. He had some homework that needed to be done, and it didn’t matter it was 3 a.m. He wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, anyway.

 

 

 

 

 

“Did you even sleep at all?”

Silence.

“Tony. I’m talking to you”.

A sigh.

Another sigh, from a different mouth.

“Your heart won’t last too long if you keep putting it through this stress”.

The door clicked behind Rhodes as he left the workshop.

Tony dropped his head at his friend’s absence, feeling more exhausted than he ever had in his life. He had been awake for almost three days straight, working non-stop as a way to get everything out of his head and actually be productive. Moping wouldn’t do him any good. Working, on the other hand, would at least help others in the exact way he couldn’t help himself.

Or help Peter.

Yeah. He couldn’t think about Peter, or he’d be distracted again. Back to work.

His vision was blurry and his thoughts were muddled, but his coffee mug was empty and to have some more he’d have to get up and brew it. The mere thought made him sigh in resignation. His body was begging for rest and Tony just wouldn’t give it what it wanted. He was pushing himself harder and harder, and he knew Rhodes was right – if he kept doing so, he was doomed to kick the bucket sooner than planned. With a resigned sigh, he shut the blurry screen of his computer down and stood up from his rolling chair, leaning on the desk before him for support as his vision swam and spun along with his dizziness.

Once he regained his senses, he grabbed his phone and made his way to the makeshift couch he kept on the workshop, mostly for powernaps. The mere thought of going back home was exhausting to him, so the dusty couch would have to do. He didn’t plan on sleeping much, anyway – just enough to get his brain back on tracks and to relieve the strain on his heart.

Though he was pretty sure the strain on his heart had an entirely different cause.

He missed Peter. He wanted to talk to the kid, to ask him how he was doing, to check on him himself, instead of asking other people to do it for him. But he also wanted to make sure the kid was safe, and… well. He wouldn’t be as long as Tony was around him.

May had called him once, but Tony hadn’t answered it. He didn’t need the woman to yell more accusations at his face, no matter what Rhodes had told him. And maybe he should have picked it up, because something could have happened to Peter, but Friday had informed him that Karen gave her Peter’s vitals and he was doing just fine, and Happy had told him that Peter seemed ok, albeit a little sadder and quieter than usual. So May wasn’t calling to warn him of incoming tragedy, which meant he didn’t have to pick up her calls.

The kid just needed time, and Tony wasn’t about to ruin his recovery. Paying for the best therapist in town was the least he could do for the kid who had been kidnapped because of his mistake. Peter would be ok.

He didn’t really need Tony. Tony definitely needed Peter, but Peter didn’t need him. Correction: Peter was better off without him. And Tony had needed many things he didn’t get in his life – fatherly love, a nice childhood, some sense of normalcy. And he always coped. Surely, his ways weren’t the healthiest ones, but he made it through. He would make it through again.

That didn’t stop him from opening his chat with Peter for what felt like the hundredth time, re-reading the whole thing over and over again and trying to convince himself that the kid would be better off without him. He felt like an emotional old man, but deep down he knew that he just missed Peter so much that it physically hurt. He wished he had been nicer to the kid. He wished he had given him a proper goodbye, instead of simply not showing up.

He wished he had never let Peter get so close to him, so close to the center of the target. But, at the same time, he was too selfish to _actually_ wish he had never let Peter get so close. The kid was the best thing that had happened to his life, and to give him up was the hardest thing he’d ever done. But if he didn’t put his distance, Peter could get hurt on his behalf again, and he would be damned if he let that happen.

He ended up passing out from exhaustion, his phone screen still sparkling lively in the dimly-lit room, displaying the last conversation he had had with Peter before their relationship was changed for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: yes, I know. This is turning out longer than (any of us) expected. This story was supposed to be ten chapters long, but it just... felt too rushed to end it on the tenth chapter. So, there will be two more to go!  
> Secondly: sorry if this was boring and disappointing. Recovery is boring and disappointing, though, so I didn't want Peter's to be too rushed. However, fear not: chapter 11 will finally feature Peter and Tony talking to each other (that's a promise).  
> Also, I love Happy and Peter's relationship, so this chapter may have been slightly self-indulgent. Hope you guys liked it, though! Let me know what you think!  
> As always, thanks for reading and leaving kudos and comments! A writer is nothing without readers, and you guys are the best ♡


	11. Chapter 11

A puffy-eyed, bed-haired May appeared in front of his bedroom, rubbing one of her eyes in a tired manner and leaning one elbow on the doorframe. She stared at Peter for a long time, the boy not even realizing his aunt was there until she cleared her throat. He had been so absorbed with his homework – he was finally finishing it, only one more page to go, thank god – that he startled at the sound, jolting on the bed and, by default, disrupting his leg. He miraculously did not hiss at the spark of pain that erupted from the limb, managing to stare up at May with wide eyes that blinked in relief as soon as he realized that it was just his aunt, and not some sudden enemy, appearing at his door.

“Up already?”, May asked, stepping slowly into the room. Her glasses were nowhere to be seen, which indicated that she probably had just gotten out of bed and headed straight to his bedroom to check on him. He felt an unexplainable pinch of guilt at the thought.

Reaching to the nightstand and grabbing his phone, Peter checked the time and found it was 7 in the morning. He usually woke up half an hour later than that, but May’s suspicion probably wasn’t unfounded. He didn’t need to look in a mirror to know that he probably looked like crap, if the blurry reflection of his own tired face on the now unlit screen of his phone was anything to go by.

“I woke up earlier to get this done”, Peter explained, waving one of the many pages of his homework at his aunt. He tried to tell himself that this wasn’t exactly a lie – he did wake up earlier, and he did take the opportunity to get his homework done. The only thing he was omitting was the fact that he had woken up at 3 a.m., and had stayed awake ever since.

May offered him a tiny smile that didn’t really manage to hide the worry from her eyes, and she sat down at the edge of Peter’s bunker bed, in front of him and his homework. She just gazed at him for a while, and, feeling frankly a bit embarrassed by the attention, Peter chose to get back to his homework before it was time to get ready for school. He was painfully aware of May’s eyes fixed on him, but did his best to maintain a neutral face as he continued to write down the answers to one of the many questions his teacher had assigned him.

“You were fast asleep when I got home yesterday”, May commented after a while in silence. Peter didn’t look up at her, continuing to write down on the paper. He hummed low in the back of his throat, acknowledging her comment. “I didn’t want to wake you up, though. You looked so peaceful”, she added, sounding a bit sad. Peter spared her a quick glance, finding a melancholic look on his aunt’s eyes. His heart twisted inside his chest.

“Yeah, I was just really tired”, he chuckled. He didn’t want to let her know that one of the many reasons for his tiredness had been the fact that he had been forced to go to an appointment with a therapist because Mr. Stark didn’t want to have to deal with him anymore and because he had been tortured by a guy who not only hated him but had also been hired by his ex-girlfriend’s dad.

“I wanted to take you off those jeans so that you’d be more comfortable, but I was afraid I’d hurt your leg”, May continued. Peter squinted his eyes and looked up at her again, this time studying her face for longer. May wasn’t a staller – usually, when she had something to say, she’d go straight to the point. She wasn’t the type to sit at Peter’s bed and make small talk with him. If she wanted to know about his day, she’d ask about his day. If she wanted to ask him anything, she’d go straight to the point. So why was she insisting on this meaningless talk now?

“It’s ok, it wasn’t as uncomfortable as you'd think”, Peter shrugged, sparing her one final glance before lowering his head and going back to his homework. If he was being honest with himself, he hated this. Usually, talking to May was comforting to him, because she was a very straightforward person who didn’t beat around the bush or tried to sugarcoat him. But now, he felt like he was made of porcelain, something fragile and breakable that would fall apart if she handled him wrong. And he didn’t like that.

He had felt fragile and small his whole life. Becoming Spider-Man had changed things for good – people may not know about his identity, but he knew what he could do. He had the physical strength to lift tons of weight just with one hand, he had the ability to climb up walls and hear things from miles away. He could sense danger before it actually happened, he could stop buses using his middle finger, he could beat up bad guys and common robbers without even batting an eye. He was strong, and he was brave, and he was everything he had always wanted to be but never could because asthmatic, wimpy, parentless Peter Parker was nothing more than a loser and a nerd who couldn’t even stand up to Flash without shaking.

But now, after what Gargan did to him – and after what he did to Gargan – he didn’t feel as strong anymore. Not only because his leg was still healing and, therefore, he couldn’t really use his powers or act as the Friend of the Neighborhood for a while, but because everyone seemed to think of him as a helpless kid in need of protection. Yes, he had been kidnapped, and yes, he had been hurt and tortured, but that didn’t mean he had suddenly become a frail porcelain doll who would break into a thousand pieces if the wind blew on it a little harder. He understood May was concerned about him – she was _always_ concerned about him – but sugarcoating him was something that deeply annoyed him, for some reason.

Maybe it had to do with the fact that Peter didn’t feel like he deserved it. He had killed a person. He had taken a life. Even in the past, Uncle Ben had died because of him. For all this, he didn’t think he deserved May’s sympathy or care. He deserved her to hate him, like Mr. Stark did. He had _taken a life_. He wasn’t weak, or frail, or helpless. He was… he was a murderer. He deserved to be treated as such. He didn’t deserve to have May sit on his bedside and look concerned and ask him questions without really asking them.

But, at the same time, the thought of May hating him like Mr. Stark did made his heart twist painfully in his chest and skip some beats. He didn’t think he’d survive being hated by the two most important people in his life – being hated by one of them was already hurtful enough.

“Peter?”, May asked, interrupting his stream of thoughts, and Peter realized he had been blankly staring at his homework for several seconds – he couldn’t tell how many –, pencil frozen midair and hands unmoving. May sounded terribly worried at this, but she did no move to touch him or enter his line of sight. Peter sighed and lowered his hand, allowing his shoulders to slump before rubbing a tired hand over his eyes.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m fine”, he said simply, not meeting May’s eyes. “I was just trying to think about this”, he gestured at the homework. “Physics always sort of gets me”, he forced out a chuckle, causing May to frown.

“You love Physics”, she commented, worry dripping from her tone. Peter closed his eyes for a moment before reopening them and putting a smile on his face with more ease than he had managed with Happy or Rhodes before. How was it possible that he was so good at lying, but at the same time so _bad_? He put his pencil away and looked up at May with a reassuring smirk.

“I love Physics, that doesn’t mean I’m 100% good at it all the time”, he pointed out, raising his eyebrow and smiling playfully. She still looked suspicious, but allowed the subject to drop, shifting on the bed instead and looking slightly anxious. Peter wanted to tell her just to spit whatever she wanted to say out already, but something told him he’d regret that.

“Did you… have dinner last night?”, May asked, looking like she wanted to sound reprehensive for Peter’s lack of self-care but not quite finding in her heart to do so. Peter felt blood rush to his ears and tried his best not to blush. “It’s just you were already asleep when I got home, and I didn’t want to wake you up in case you had already eaten, but… You can’t go that long without food, honey”, she added, as if she already knew the answer. Peter dropped his gaze for a moment.

“I grabbed a bite before I fell asleep”, he said, glad he didn’t have to lie for once. She studied him, looking like she didn’t really believe him, which was very ironic, really, if he thought about it. She believed him when he was lying, but suspected him when he told her the truth. “With Happy. He picked me up from school”, he added, vaguely. He didn’t feel like explaining to her that the reason why Happy had picked him up was so that he could take him to a therapist. May would probably worry her ass off if she thought that Peter needed therapy after everything he’d gone through. For all she knew, he was just a regular kid who had been caught up in the middle of superhero business, and not a superhero himself.

… Except May simply nodded without displaying a single hint of surprise that Happy had picked him up, and worried nervously at her lower lip like she always did when she was anxious.

“How…”, she started, not meeting Peter’s eyes. She cleared her throat slightly before continuing. “How was the therapist?”

Peter stared blankly at her. Several seconds passed without neither of them saying a word.

May knew. Not only did she know, but she had probably contributed to the idea.

Without telling Peter about it. Without asking Peter about it.

He felt hypocritical for feeling betrayed after he had lied and tricked her so many times, but… He couldn’t help it. His heart was beating really fast and all his senses felt like they had been increased by a tenfold. There was a ringing in his ears and the clothes against his skin felt itchy and sharp.

He couldn’t really be mad at May for hiding things from him, though. He was always hiding things from her, and lying to her. He wasn’t really in the right to be upset that she never told him or even mentioned the therapist at all.

It didn’t mean it hurt him any less.

“It was ok”, he said simply. Coldly. Bitterly. He didn’t look at her as he began to pack his notebooks and papers back into his bag, along with his pencil and markers. She sighed, frustrated and clearly sensing that her nephew was upset, but Peter simply got out of the bed, ignoring the way his leg throbbed in protest at the speed of his movements. He limped towards his wardrobe and pretended he was trying to pick up clothes to wear to school, when it was actually just an excuse to face away from May in order to hide the betrayal in his face.

“Baby, I’m sorry”, May began, making Peter scoff slightly through his nose. She got to her feet and approached him, never touching him or getting too close as if she feared she would hurt him. As if he was a pathetic, frail thing that would become undone at the slightest touch of her hands. He hated it. He hated that distance, the distance from Mr. Stark, who didn’t want to see me anymore; the distance from May, who refused to touch him; the distance from Ned, to whom he could tell nothing because he would hate him for being a murderer too; and even the distance from Happy, who was clearly being more tender and gentle to him in a way that he had never been before.

He felt more isolated and lonelier than ever, and his last safe space – his house – didn’t feel that safe anymore. He knew his brain was being stupid – he had absolutely no right whatsoever to be mad at May after all the things he had done –, but he couldn’t help but to feel alone and betrayed, like there was no one else he could trust in the world. He couldn’t feel safe at Tony’s workshop, because he wasn’t wanted there, he couldn’t feel safe at school, because Flash bullied him for something as simple as breathing. He couldn’t feel safe at Ned’s, because his friend would drown him in questions that he didn’t want to answer, he couldn’t feel safe at the therapist, because he didn’t know her at all. He couldn’t feel safe at home, because May thought it was ok to make choices on his behalf without telling him about him and treated him like he was made of glass. He had nowhere to go. No one to turn to. He was utterly, completely, absolutely alone. He couldn’t even be Spider-Man for another six days and escape the whirlpool of misery that his life had apparently become.

“I know I should have talked to you about this, but I was afraid you would say no and you _really_ need these sessions, Peter”, May continued while Peter fumbled with shirts and pants as he pretended to go through them. “I always wanted you to get therapy but I could never afford it, remember that? And I hate that Tony”, he winced at the mention, “had to be the one to pay for it, but he was more than willing to do so and I’m glad that at least now you can talk to someone”, she smiled nervously, eager for Peter’s understanding. Somehow, the mention of Mr. Stark and the words May said afterwards upset Peter, and he turned on his heels before he could think better about it, allowing his aunt to see all the hurt that was etched in his eyes.

“I could talk to you”, he said, voice tight. “I could always talk to you”.

“No, Peter”, May protested, face unfaltering. “You haven’t talked to me in a long time. You haven’t _really_ talked to me in a long time, baby, and it’s like I don’t know what’s going on in your life anymore. I’m so happy you got the internship, but I know there’s something else you’re not telling me. I’ve been trying to talk to you, really talk to you, for a while now, but you never let me in”, she shook her head, tears making her eyes glisten. Peter felt his face grow pale as May spoke. “You don’t have to talk to me about things you don’t want to, and I get that…”, she hesitated. “I get that there are things you are more comfortable sharing with Tony than me”, the words made Peter’s heart skip a beat. “I always did the best I could to raise you to be the amazing person you are, Peter, but I understand, I really do”, she chuckled sadly. “I get it that there is some boy talk that you may not feel 100% comfortable to have with me, and I’m really happy that Tony has been acting as a… as the father figure that you lack ever since Ben…”, she trailed off, one single tear escaping her eye before she quickly wiped it away. “But my point is that I _know_ you can’t tell me everything, which is why I really think going to this therapist is going to be good for you, especially after everything that happened. You keep saying you’re fine all the time, you say it fifty times a day, but I know you’re not, honey. Tony knows you’re not, either, which is why he’s paying for the _best therapist in town_ ”, she shook her head. “I… I should have talked to you about this, before you went to the appointment. I know I should have”, she reached a hand towards him before stopping herself midway and allowing it to drop before she could touch him. “But I really just want what’s best for you. Do you understand that?”

Peter stared at her with resentment for a while before allowing his face to drop in a miserable expression, eyes lowering and shoulders slumping again. He felt tired and sad and alone. He understood May’s point and could bring himself to sympathize with it, if he tried to, but he couldn’t simply shake off the betrayal and the alienation he felt from everyone in his life as if it was nothing. The fact that she had mentioned Mr. Stark several times as if he and Peter were still best buddies was what hurt the most out of her whole little speech. To be reminded that Tony had been a father figure to him, now that Peter didn’t even have that anymore, made a weight settle down inside his chest and pull his mood down along with it.

“Yeah, I understand that”, Peter sighed in defeat, throwing the shirt he was fidgeting with back into his wardrobe without really caring about putting it back in its proper place. He took one limp-y step back towards May and looked up at her with sadness in his eyes. “I just…”, she shook his head tiredly. “I don’t want to have these sessions, May”, he admitted, actually surprised that he had the bravery to say that. May frowned. “I don’t need them. I don’t want to do it”, he added for good measure.

“But darling –“, she tried, but Peter shook his head before she could continue.

“I don’t want to”, he repeated before she could get started with whatever argument she was about to make. “I don’t know her, I don’t…”, he took in a sharp intake of breath, trying to blink back the tears forming in his eyes. He felt so vulnerable. The fact that everyone was treating him like he was as vulnerable as he felt wasn’t doing wonders for his self-esteem. He was Spider-Man. He was strong. He needed to be strong. People needed to believe he was strong, otherwise, what would be the point of him?

Gargan had stripped him down of his freedom, of his chance to choose, of his integrity, of Tony, of everything. He had hurt him and made him feel weak and helpless. Peter was done feeling that way. He wanted to feel strong again, but every single person in his life was making him feel all those things Gargan made him feel all over and over again. Ned, pressuring him with his questions; Flash, mocking him; May, making choices for him without asking his opinion on the matter; Mr. Stark… Disappearing from his life. He was fed up. He was tired and alone and the last thing he wanted to do was to open himself up to a woman he didn’t even know and make himself even more vulnerable.

“Peter, darling”, May said, patiently. She looked distraught. “It’s ok to feel a bit awkward around her in the first sessions. You don’t know her, that’s fine, it’s only natural”, she smiled softly. “But, overtime, you’ll build confidence and you’ll be able to talk to her about the things that are bothering you –“

“Nothing’s bothering me”, Peter interrupted, turning his back on May again. He didn’t want to have this conversation. If anything, that was the last conversation he wanted to have.

“You know, you never were a great liar”, May crossed her arms above her chest and gave Peter a disbelieving look. Peter scoffed through his nose again, relishing on the irony of that statement. _If only she knew_.

“I don’t want to talk about this”, Peter responded simply, going back to pretending he was picking his clothes. He miraculously managed to keep his voice from breaking as he spoke up. May opened her mouth to argue but allowed her jaw to close after a moment, shoulders slumping in defeat. She took a deep breath and sighed, looking frustrated and miserable.

“We’ll have to talk about this at some point, honey”, she said, shrugging helplessly even though Peter had his back turned on her. “You can’t run away from it forever”.

“I have to get to school”, he said simply, picking up a plain black shirt and some old-school jeans to wear. May stepped to the side so that Peter could walk back towards his bed, where he placed the set of clothes and removed his shirt, in a way that was clearly dismissive.

“Ok”, she said simply, aware that it would be useless to try and keep arguing with Peter. The next appointment with Dr. Kaplan would only take place in the next week, which meant she had time to change his mind about it until then. “Do you want help with your leg?”, she asked, surging forwards with an outstretched hand towards Peter.

“No, it’s fine”, he immediately protested before she could get too close. May stopped on her tracks. “I can do it on my own”.

She stared down at him with a sad look on her face for a couple of seconds before nodding her head and turning to leave the room, stopping hesitantly by the door for a moment. She turned around to see Peter struggling to remove the jeans he was wearing, one of the legs of the fabric having been folded all the way up to his thigh because of the cast. Peter was having a hard time stretching the opening wide enough in order to make it go around the cast and remove it, but he had told May he didn’t want any help. She had already violated his trust enough.

“You know I love you, don’t you, Peter?”, she asked, one hand on the doorknob. Peter didn’t look up at her.

“Yeah, love you too”, he said simply, voice lacking its usual emotion. May lowered his eyes and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Peter continued his tiring struggle against the jeans for a few more minutes before he gave up and decided to leave them on. He would never be able to get off them without someone else’s help, but he didn’t want to ask for it – especially not to May, since she already seemed to think he was so helpless. He simply threw the bland black tee on himself and a hoodie he hadn’t worn in ages, deciding he would have to find a way out of these pants later, when he was alone. For safe measure, he put on a sweater on the top of the hoodie, because he never knew when he could get too cold or not. The temperature outside was pleasant and the sun was shining brightly and warmly, but Peter would be damned if he allowed himself to get caught unprepared again. The hoodie and the sweater were already making him sweat, but he couldn’t bring himself to remove them. From his own experience, he was better off too hot than too cold.

He threw his backpack over his shoulder and left his room, glad that he could at least get almost all of his homework done. May had made him some pancakes and he ate them in silence before bidding her a goodbye that was quieter and colder than usual, heading out of their apartment and finding Happy to be waiting for him just outside the building. Peter was unusually quiet during the ride to Midtown Tech, and when Happy uncharacteristically asked him the reason behind that, he put the blame on tiredness, sleepiness, and the worry for taking a Spanish quiz that he made up on the way.

 

 

 

 

 

This was probably the worst week of Peter’s life.

He couldn’t wait to go back to his patrolling agenda as Spider-Man, counting the hours until the following Monday when he would finally be able to get rid of the cast around his leg for as long as May wasn’t near him. Sometimes, when he felt particularly lonely, he would let his fingers trade the soothing surface of his suit and feel the fabric, longing to just put it on and forget about his life for a while as he webbed around Queens and finally helped people for once. However, he never dared to put his mask on and talk to Karen, out of fear that she would send Mr. Stark or Friday some sort of alert about him wearing the suit before he was allowed to. He did miss Karen’s soothing voice and nonchalant advices, and he was sure that she would probably make him feel less lonely and a bit better about his current state if he would just talk to her for a moment, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that she had been designed and developed by Mr. Stark and, at the end of the day, her loyalty was probably his, and not Peter’s. He didn’t want to make Mr. Stark even more disappointed in him by breaking the deal and wearing the suit before it was due time.

School went on as normally as it could, given the circumstances. Ned stopped asking him if he was okay every other five seconds and, for that, Peter was grateful. He could still see the too-frequent-for-comfort glances Ned spared him throughout the day, but he never pressured Peter to speak about what had happened to him or asked any questions related to the subject. Peter couldn’t deny he was relieved by that. Yes, he knew his best friend had reason to worry, and yes, he knew he should probably tell Ned at least a simplified, not-too-graphic version of the course of events from the past week, if only to ease his nerves, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Talking about what had happened made him relive everything in his head, as well as remember what he had gone through, what he had done, and the outcomes of that. Thinking about all that was already hard enough – talking about it would be a nightmare. Which was one of the reasons why Peter didn’t look forward to Monday.

This was paradoxical – in one hand, he was counting the hours, but on the other, he couldn’t dread it more. Going back to patrols would happen on the same day of his therapy appointment, a therapy which he did not want, in the slightest, to attend, but couldn’t bring himself to deny. May had subtly tried to approach the subject over the course of the week after their not-quite-discussion on Tuesday, but Peter never gave her a proper answer. He would let her blabber about the reasons why she thought seeing Dr. Kaplan would be good for him, and then he would simply nod and change the subject, often trying to make a joke or offer her smiles that left him tired and exhausted afterwards.

Because what else could he do? If May thought he was fine, if Ned and Happy thought he was fine, then maybe they would get out of his case and leave him be. Maybe if they saw him smile and banter and go back to making jokes at inappropriate times like he usually did, they would realize he didn’t really need a therapist and stop making him attend one. Ned didn’t even know about the therapist thing – if Peter told him, he was surely going to worry more than ever – but he was tired of seeing the concern clearly etched on his friend’s face whenever they hung out. Peter just wanted things to go back to normal. He just wanted to feel like himself again, even though he doubted that was ever going to happen.

Sunday night found Peter sitting on his bunker bed with a pensive look on his face as he stared out the window and upon the empty street. On the foot of his bed, the most recent edition of the Daily Bugle sat, with a headline that read “SPIDER-MAN: GONE FOREVER OR ON VACATION?” and a biased article speculating on the whereabouts of the Friend of the Neighborhood and calling him a coward for leaving the city unprotected out of nowhere. He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. When he was around, all they did was criticize him for stealing the jobs of police officers; now that he was gone, all they did was criticize him for not protecting people. Of course, the whole point of that newspaper was, for some reason, to tear Spider-Man’s reputation to shreds, so Peter couldn’t exactly say he expected anything other than that.

He vaguely wondered what the headline for the following day’s paper would be. He didn’t plan on making a triumphant comeback – just the usual Spider-Man stuff, protecting the small guy, stopping common robbers, returning stolen items. He would probably be criticized for that, too, but criticism from the Daily Bugle wasn’t exactly new for him. Still, it was a bit tiring, especially given everything he had gone through. He didn’t take a _vacation_ from being Spider-Man. He had been kidnapped and had his leg snapped almost in half. It wasn’t like he had voluntarily called in sick because he wasn’t in the mood to be a hero.

Peter sighed and threw an arm above his head, staring up at his ceiling and wondering what he should expect of the following day, the following week, the following month. He had gotten used to spending several days on Tony’s workshop, working with him and learning from him and actually feeling like he had someone he could trust like a father ever since his uncle’s death. Now… he didn’t even know if he would get updates to the suit. Of course, he could do them himself, but would Tony take the suit back from him if he hacked into it again? Did Peter even have the necessary skill to update it on his own? Would he ever even see Tony again, even if from afar?

The answer to the last question came to him on the following day. After yet another normal day at school – Flash picking on him, teachers asking him questions, pretending he was fine and making jokes around Ned –, Happy picked him up. However, instead of taking him to the much dreaded appointment with Dr. Kaplan, as Peter had feared and prepared himself for the whole night through – he had even practiced made-up answers that were supposed to be humorous and show her that _he was just fine, he didn’t need therapy, thank you very much_ –, Happy told him they were going over to Stark Industries.

Understandably, Peter’s blood froze in his veins at the announcement and his hands started to sweat. He didn’t dare to ask Happy what the hell he was going to do at Stark Industries – could it be possible that Tony wanted to talk to him, after over a week of silence? Was he going to make things right with Peter, or would he ask for the suit back? Would he tell Peter everything was fine between them or end their relationship for good? Peter had frankly no idea what would happen, and the thought of asking Happy about it made him feel like an overly-curious child. However, probably sensing his raising anxiety, Happy offered him a simple explanation:

“Doctor Cho wants to check on your leg before you go back to Spider-Man activity. We’ve already contacted Doctor Kaplan and your appointment with her has been re-scheduled for Thursday”.

Oh. Right. He felt stupid for not realizing that before. It was Monday. He was allowed to go back to being Spider-Man on Monday. To realize that he had completely forgotten about that, when Spider-Man was probably one of the most important aspects of his life… made him feel stupid and a bit too nauseous inside the car. Maybe he did need a bit of therapy, after all. Just a bit.

So he wasn’t going to see Tony, then. He faced away from the rearview mirror so that Happy wouldn’t be able to see the way his face fell in disappointment.

The appointment with Doctor Cho was thankfully quicker than Peter had expected. She removed the cast with experience, examined his leg, tested his reflexes, asked him a bunch of questions which he answered with as much humor as he could muster. After taking an X-ray and assessing that Peter’s fibula appeared to be fully healed, she finally gave him an optimistic smile.

“So, you haven’t been feeling any pain?”, she asked again, raising an eyebrow at him as she removed her rubber gloves.

“Nope”, Peter promptly shook his head, propping himself up with two elbows.

“No discomfort, throbbing or sudden spikes of pain?”, she continued, discarding the gloves on the trash at the corner of the room.

“Nopety nope”, he said, even though that wasn’t 100% true. He had been getting some spikes and throbbing, but they never lasted more than a few seconds and weren’t usually too painful. He just wanted to get back to being Spider-Man soon – his leg could continue healing on the meantime. He didn’t want Cho to make him wait another whole week to get back to duty just because of something as small as a throbbing. Now that he remembered he could, it didn’t seem like he could stop thinking about going back to being Spider-Man. He _needed_ to. If he had to spend one more day being just Peter Parker, he would _lose it._

“Well”, Cho sighed, approaching him again. “The leg seems fully healed to me. If you’re not feeling any pain or discomfort, you can go back to your… superhero activities. _But_ –“, she added emphatically at the same time Peter’s eyes sparkled at the news. “You need to take it easy for a few days, ok? I don’t want you to put too much strain on the leg. I still don’t fully understand how your metabolism works, and usually this kind of fracture takes months to heal. To have it mend completely over the course of a week is something I’ve never seen before, so I don’t want to risk it”, she crossed her arms above her chest as if to show him she was being serious. Peter nodded compliantly, eager to just get back home and put the damn suit on. He needed it. He really, really needed it.

“So that’s it?”, Happy asked from where he had been watching at the corner of the room. “Kid’s good to go?”

“Yes”, Cho said. “I will give you a fake cast that you can wear to school and around your aunt. It’s easily removable and easily passes for a real cast. After that, you’re cleared”, she smiled at him, opening a suit she had brought in for Peter’s appointment and revealing a cast that looked very much real. She taught Peter how to easily put it on and remove it and, after he was acquainted with it, she put it back in the suitcase and handed it over to him.

“So I can really go back to being Spider-Man now, right?”, Peter asked again as he grabbed the suitcase, hugging it to his chest and barely managing to keep the eagerness out of his tone.

“Yes”, Cho said, but raised a warning eyebrow at him. “But remember – no straining the leg. And I want to have a follow-up appointment in two weeks to check your progress”, she added. Peter nodded.

“Uh, thanks doc”, he said, offering her a polite smile. “For everything, really. You really saved my ass back there”.

“Hey, watch your language, spiderling”, Happy reproached from his corner, giving him an offended look. Peter chuckled, and Cho smiled.

“You have nothing to thank me for, Peter; I was just doing my job”, she pointed out, giving his shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Tony was the one who saved your life. I just fixed you up and put the pieces back together”, she added. Peter’s smile faltered, but he tried his best not to let it drop completely, lest he reveal how hearing Tony’s name after so much time of silence made him feel lost and even more alone.

“Still…”, he continued, voice lacking its previous lightheartedness, despite of his best efforts. “Thanks”, he offered her a small smile.

“You’re welcome”, she nodded politely. “I want you to call me if you feel any discomfort, ok? It’s natural for your leg to be a bit weaker for a while, but you can get in touch if the weakness lasts too long. I don’t think you’ll need physiotherapy, but the possibility is never off the table. I still have a lot to learn about how your metabolism works”, she chuckled softly. Peter nodded.

“Will do”, he smiled. “I still have your number”.

She nodded and stepped to the side so that Peter could hop off the bed. He hesitated for a moment, once he realized that this would be the first time he put weight on his injured leg since it snapped. Putting the suitcase with the fake cast aside and swallowing dry, he adjusted himself on the edge of the medical bed, staring at the floor and bracing himself. Happy took a few steps forwards , arms still crossed above his chest and a poorly-hidden look of concern on his face.

“You need help, kid?”, he asked, managing to sound nonchalant. Cho raised a hand towards Happy, as if to stop him from approaching further.

“No, let him”, she advised simply, keeping her eyes on Peter and watching him closely. Her eyes had a sharp look on them, as if she was ready to detect any possible sign of pain Peter could give once he put weight on his leg.

The thought almost made him shiver. He didn’t want her to bed him for another week. He wanted to be able to put on a mask and go around helping people, saving people, and doing something good for once. He knew that it wouldn’t be enough to redeem himself for what he had done, but still, he couldn’t sit around and do nothing just because he knew he was a bad person. Bad or not, he still had a responsibility to everyone in Queens.

 _With great power comes great responsibility_ , Uncle Ben had told him on the day he had died.

 _What if someone had died? Different story, right, ‘cause that’s on you_ , Mr. Stark had told him on the day he took his suit away.

Yeah. Responsibility sucked. But he had one anyway.

“Peter?”, Cho urged, creasing her brow in concern. If he hesitated any longer, she would probably want him to wait another week anyway. He took in a deep breath, and hopped off the bed. The pain he would feel couldn’t be worse than the pain of his leg actually breaking, right?

His feet contacted with the floor and he put weight on his left leg for the first time since Gargan. He felt no pain.

He shot his head up to stare at Cho, eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar in surprise. His leg wasn’t hurting, or throbbing, or _anything_. It felt perfectly fine. It felt as if he hadn’t even broken it barely over a week before. She offered him a sincere – and slightly relieved – smile and reached forwards to squeeze his shoulder.

Sparks of electricity ran down Peter’s arm and he flinched, making Cho draw her hand away hesitantly. He realized with a tiny gasp how touch-starved he had been. People had barely touched his skin after the accident – even May had been avoiding to touch him, as if afraid he would break if she squeezed too hard. To have someone offer him physical comfort, even through something as simple as a squeeze to the shoulder, was too much for his already heightened-senses. He gave Cho an apologetic look, afraid he had offended her.

“Sorry”, he said as soon as he flinched. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to, I just… wasn’t expecting it”, he added, feeling pathetic. Cho gave him a comprehending look and nodded. Happy looked very concerned behind her, but tried to mask it from his face as soon as Peter turned his gaze towards him.

“It’s ok”, she said gently, sounding as patient as ever. She folded her hands in front of her, keeping a respectful distance from Peter. “You are free to go, now. I expect to see you back here in two weeks time, but you are absolutely free to call or text me if you feel anything. Ok?”, she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Ok”, he nodded back, offering her a tiny smile. “Again – thanks doc. For everything”.

“Again – you don’t need to thank me”, Cho smiled, walking Peter and Happy out Stark Industries’ medbay room she had reserved for the appointment. “But you’re welcome, Peter. Remember – don’t strain your leg too hard and take care. Your metabolism may be fast, but it’s still better not to risk it”.

“You got it”, he winked at her, walking out of the room but stopping on his tracks once he realized Happy had stayed behind. “Happy?”, he asked, frowning slightly.

“Uh, you get going to main hall, kid”, he said simply, waving a dismissive hand at Peter. “I just need to talk to Doctor Cho about something”, he added, being purposefully vague and knowing Peter would know better than to pry.

“O…k?”, he said hesitantly, still lingering in front of the door for a few seconds and eyeing Cho and Happy with a suspicious, hesitant look. When Happy rolled his eyes and closed the door, him and Cho still inside, Peter took his cue and headed towards the elevator, ignoring the small voice inside his head telling him to use his super-hearing in order to listen to their conversation. He pressed the button and waited for the lift to arrive.

He was still walking around rather awkwardly, having grown used to limping for the past week. It felt weird to be able to put weight on his injured leg and, with every step he took, an inevitable sense of anticipation that he would feel pain make his stomach churn. Still, he managed to reach the elevator, thankful that there was no one around to see his half-limping, half-walking through the Stark Industries corridors.

What felt the weirdest to him was not the leg, however, but the sense of being at Stark Industries and not heading to Tony’s workshop. Every single time he had been on that building, he had gone to Tony’s workshop. Surely, Tony had given him a personal tour when he first went over, and he had been over to the medbay too many times for comfort – most times, because of lab-induced small accidents that left Tony fretting and panicking behind him while some expert doctor checked him over, a few times because of Spider-Man related injuries and one time because Tony drank too much coffee and went too many hours without sleep, which resulted on him passing out mid-sentence while teaching Peter how to use a holotable. Peter didn’t remember feeling so scared in his life, except for when Uncle Ben died in his arms.

But now, he wasn’t headed to the workshop. He couldn’t be. He shouldn’t be. He had to refrain himself from pressing the button that led to that specific floor once he entered the elevator, because it was already muscle memory for him to do so, and because he had never, ever been to Stark Industries without visiting the workshop at some point, even if it was just to say hello. He felt an uncomfortable sort of emptiness inside his chest as the elevator’s doors opened and he stepped into the main hall of the SI, walking over to the reception and greeting the receptionist with a small smile. She knew him and he knew her – they weren’t exactly friends, but she was always very nice to him and always greeted him by name. To see her still sitting there, smiling and jovial as always, unaware of everything that had happened to him and how much things had changed, made Peter’s heart twist a little inside his chest.

“Hi, there, Peter”, she said lovingly. All the receptionists at Stark Industries greeted him in that similar manner, as if they were very fond of him for no reason other than his simple existence.

“Hey, Julie”, he said back, leaning his elbows on the reception desk and offering her a smile that felt a bit more sincere than the other ones. He was glad to see her – glad to see that some things hadn’t changed, despite everything that had.

“What happened to you? I haven’t seen you in an eternity”, she said, stopping her work and turning her rolling chair towards him. She leaned over and supported her chin with one hand, giving him an attentive, curious look. Peter felt himself flush – there was no reason why anyone would have explained Peter’s unnatural absence to her. He was over at the Stark Industries headquarters all the time, and his week-long disappearance was bound to be noticed by the staff, which was already used to him walking around with… with Mr. Stark.

“I had a small accident”, he shrugged, not meeting her eyes as he spoke. That had to be the understatement of the year, but he didn’t want to worry her. “Broke my leg. But I’m fine, now. Doctor Cho just gave me a look over”.

“Oh, poor thing”, she said, giving him a sympathetic look. “But I’m glad you’re fine now”, she rolled her chair back towards her computer, typing something down but still reserving part of her attention to him. After Peter lingered by the reception desk for a while, not saying anything and staring off at the street, she raised an eyebrow at him. “You know you have clearance to go straight up to Mr. Stark, right? You don’t need me to announce you”, she chuckled briefly, confused by Peter’s unusually long presence at the reception. Usually, he’d make small talk and go up to the workshop, eager to have his classes with Mr. Stark. He couldn’t help but let his face fall at this. “Unless you lost your badge _again_ ”, she jested, unaware of Peter’s reaction. He turned his face away from her in order to recompose and swallowed dry a few times before turning back to her, a fake smile on his lips.

“Oh, not going up today”, he shrugged, sensing the tears well up in his eyes and feeling horribly stupid for that. “I’m just waiting for Happy”.

“I see”, she said after frowning for a bit. Yeah, yeah. He never came over without stopping by at the workshop. Suddenly, Julie’s presence didn’t feel so warm anymore, even though it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know about what happened. Deep inside, Peter was glad she didn’t. He imagined the disgusted, terrified look that would take over her face if she knew he was a murderer, and felt a bit nauseous again. “You’re still recovering, yeah? Better save your energies”, she smiled brightly at him again, sounding very certain of herself.

“Yeah”, he chuckled without humor, feeling drained. “Need to save my energies”.

“Oh”, Julie said, looking over Peter’s shoulder with a surprised expression. “Boss is arriving”.

Peter’s blood froze again.

He slowly turned around from the reception desk to see Mr. Stark standing at the main entrance of the Stark Industries headquarters, a cup of coffee on a hand and the hot-dog he claimed to hate so much on the other. Tony never arrived at the building to work through the main door – there would be too many paparazzi there if he did – but he often used it to grab something to eat or drink whenever he needed a break from the shop. Even though Peter couldn’t see his eyes beneath the sunglasses covering them, he could tell, from the way his spider-senses tingled, that Tony was staring straight at him, probably frozen to his feet by the unexpected sight of Peter standing there uninvited.

Then a second later he regained his composure and resumed his walk into the building, walking past the reception desk and stopping right beside Peter so that he could go through the turnstile.

“Hi, Julie”, he greeted simply, not looking at the woman or at Peter. At all. Peter’s heart was beating so fast that he felt like it was going to explode, but he couldn’t tear his wide-eyed, probably-a-bit-too-hurt gaze from Mr. Stark’s face.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Stark”, Julie responded politely, as it was her usual, but she frowned at Tony’s unusual behavior towards Peter. It was as if the kid wasn’t even there. Both Peter and Julie could tell that Tony didn’t need a badge to go through the turnstile, and yet he hadn’t gone through it yet.

Peter’s hands were sweating. His blood pressure was probably so high that he was about to give himself either an anxiety attack or an aneurysm. He was very aware that his eyes were very wide from anticipation and he wished he could bury himself in sweaters and duvets and blankets and just stay warm. Because right there on that moment, he was feeling very, very cold. He was so, so cold that he might as well be inside the freezer all over again.

After what felt like an eternity but couldn’t have been over a few seconds, Tony turned his head towards Peter, facing him again. He had his usual I’m-too-much-of-a-billionaire-to-care look on his face, but even beneath the glasses, Peter could see the dark shadows beneath his eyes and how the wrinkles on his forehead seemed  to be more pronounced. If anything, Tony looked more worn out and unhealthier than Peter had ever seen him, and a spark of worry went through the anxiety in his heart. Tony didn’t look ok. At all.

Had Peter done this to him?

“How’s the leg, kid?” Tony asked after a few seconds of silence, looking down at Peter’s uncasted leg. He sounded unworried and nonchalant, as if he was asking him about the weather. As if Peter hadn’t almost died after being taken for his son, as if Peter hadn’t been kidnapped and tortured, as if he hadn’t held Peter in order to keep him warm as he succumbed to hypothermia, as if he hadn’t stood watch beside Peter’s bed, keeping his brow cool with damp cloths and holding his sweaty hands as he twitched and cried out from fever-induced nightmares. As if he didn’t care about Peter anymore. As if Peter was a simple acquaintance of his.

“G-Good”, Peter said, unable to keep the nervousness from his voice. He wished his heart was breaking, because that way he would be able to feel something other than the numbness and the anxiety and the cold. Instead, all he could feel was an ugly emptiness inside his chest. “It’s better now”, he added, just so that the first conversation he had with Tony after a week of silence didn’t become too awkward. _Too late for that_ , he thought.

“Good to know”, Tony nodded simply, walking through the turnstile but still lingering around. It felt as if he had placed an un-crossable bridge between himself and Peter, even though they were mere feet away from each other. “You been sleeping properly?”, he asked, still in that neutral tone of his. Peter didn’t know if his lower lip was quivering or not, but his eyes were thankfully dry for once. He supposed the tense situation and the numbness were keeping him from breaking down completely at that moment.

“Yeah”, he said simply, awkwardly. It was a lie, but it didn’t feel like it mattered. He could have said anything, and Tony would have probably reacted the same way. It felt as if he was talking to a random stranger at the subway station, rather than the man who had been like a father to him just a week before. He wished he had accepted to go to Hong Kong with Tony and eat shrimp on his private jet a lifetime ago, his physics quiz be damned. It was too late, now.

“Alright”, Tony nodded simply, distant. “Take care, Underoos”, he said and turned his back on Peter, walking away. He threw the nickname – the one he only used when he was being extra-affectionate with Peter – as if it was nothing, as if it didn’t mean anything. Peter realized with a sad twitch of his heart that it probably didn’t. Not anymore, at least.

Tony disappeared on a corridor, never looking back. Peter stayed at the reception desk, eyes fixed on the spot Tony had occupied a mere moment ago with a vacant expression.

“Pete”, Julie called, obvious concern making her whole face crease. “You ok?”

Peter swallowed dry again, eyes still fixed on the turnstile, as if expecting Tony to reappear any moment now. Any hope he had held, no matter how small, that things between Mr. Stark and him would ever go back to normal were completely obliterated, now. He felt empty. He felt lonely. He felt… He felt…

“T-Tell Happy I’ll be waiting outside”, he said without looking at Julie. Before the girl could even respond, Peter turned his back on her and walked out of the building, unable to stay there anymore. This had been like a second home to him, once. This had been a safe place until a week ago. Now, it was clearly just a rich building that belonged to a billionaire and which was full of fancily-dressed people and hardworking staff. It wasn’t Peter’s place. He didn’t belong there anymore. Perhaps he never did.

He felt a bit bad for never bidding goodbye to Julie. With another painful churn of his stomach, he realized that it probably wouldn’t matter. He wouldn’t be seeing her again. She would probably forget all about him after a while, as well as the rest of the SI staff. In a few years, Peter’s constant, laughing, cheerful presence along the corridors and reception would become nothing but a distant memory. A ghost. _That_ was the word. He felt like a ghost.

Happy arrived soon after he walked out, staring down at Peter with a worried look. They stayed there for a while, Happy silently assessing him and Peter refusing to look at him. He knew he should smile and make a stupid joke about his leg or something, in order not to raise suspicion, but he didn’t have the heart to. He felt like he would finally break down as soon as he opened his mouth.

“Did you see him?”, Happy finally asked after a while, reading Peter as if he was an open book. Perhaps the grief for what he had had with Mr. Stark was showing on his face. Peter wasn’t even trying to hide it, this time. He didn’t think he could. Perhaps Julie had mentioned his awkward encounter with his former mentor. To tell the truth, Peter didn’t care.

“Yeah”, he said simply, voice sounding alien to his own ears. It sounded detached. He still didn’t look at Happy.

“Did he talk to you?”, Happy continued, and honestly, for the first time in his life, Peter wished the driver would go back to his uncaring, distant mode. He had longed for Happy’s friendship and attention ever since he had known him, but now that he finally had it, it was the exact last thing Peter needed.

“Yeah”, he said again, unable to prevent his voice from breaking. _Pathetic, Parker_ , Flash’s voice echoed in his ears.

Happy made as if to squeeze his shoulder but stopped himself halfway, probably remembering the boy’s reaction to Cho doing the same. Instead, he shoved his hands awkwardly inside his pockets, looking at a loss for what to do. He had never been particularly good at comforting people.

“What did he say to you, Peter?”, he asked, serious and worried. Peter lowered his head, still refusing to meet the driver’s eyes. His lower lip was definitely quivering now, but his eyes were still empty of tears.

“Can we go home?”, he asked in a small, almost childish voice. Even standing in front of Stark Industries was too overwhelming, now. His spider-senses were making everything sound louder, the smells more intense, and the vibrations around him sharper. His senses were overloaded. There was too much input. He just wanted to get out of that place. It didn’t make him feel safe anymore.

Happy hesitated for a few more moments, assessing Peter with a concerned look that the boy didn’t even compute, since he was refusing to meet his eyes. Eventually, Happy sighed and nodded his head, grabbing the keys to the car.

“Yeah, sure, kid”, he said, sounding a bit frustrated. He gestured for Peter to accompany him and, together, they started the walk towards the car. “Let’s get you home”.

Peter was so taken aback by the whole exchange that afternoon he didn’t even remember to put on his so-missed Spider-Man suit as soon as he got home, falling into bed instead and staring at the wall for hours to no end while ignoring the uncomfortable scratch of the bedsheets against his over-sensitive skin. It wasn’t until hours later, when he heard police sirens wailing in the distance, that he even remembered there was finally something he could do to help.

He got home later in the evening, almost simultaneously with May, feeling tired and worn out from stopping the robbery taking place at a nearby deli and helping a woman that was being mugged. He only had the time to toss his suit away and shove his leg in the fake cast before May knocked on his door, asking how he was and what he would want to have for dinner.

As he limped away from his bunker bed, he ignored the throbbing on his healed leg and gave May a wide, almost sincere-looking smile as they grabbed dinner together. He had to keep the façade. It didn’t matter if it left him feeling hollow and miserable once he was alone.

 

 

 

 

 

He was so glad to be Spider-Man again.

Sure, he felt more tired than he remembered ever feeling, but the gladness of helping others and actually doing something good after so long made up for that. Just two days after he got back to action, he managed to save five people from muggings, several people inside a deli shop that was being robbed, a little boy and a dog from a burning building, a little old lady that was crossing the street without looking, two cats, a high school boy being beaten in an alley, and he got to punch a nazi in the face. He got more done in two days than he had managed to do in a little over a week of feeling sorry for himself, and it felt good to be Spider-Man again.

Surely, whenever he removed his mask and placed the cast back on his leg, he remembered everything that happened and started feeling sorry for himself again. But whenever he was webbing his way around Queens and doing backflips for the people who liked him, he managed to escape his miserable Peter Parker reality and just be someone loveable for once.

He even managed to start joking around while fighting criminals like he used to do, throwing crappy puns around and making fun of the thugs while he restrained them. This one time, he even placed a large, red ribbon on the top of one of the criminal's heads, attaching a note to the chest of the man who was tightly tied by his webs, reading: “From: Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man To: The Police (not the band. Please do NOT give this man to the band The Police).”

Something curious dawned on him one day, however, when he was almost decapitated by a machete during a fight with a particularly vicious thug who was assaulting a teenage girl. When the sharp blade miraculously missed his neck by mere inches, Peter realized that the only reason why he almost died on that very second was because he was pulling back his punches. This guy was a horrible excuse for a human being, that was for sure, but Peter didn’t want to kill him. He could, but he didn’t want to. Memories of a shelf collapsing on the top of Gargan and pinning him to his death on a frozen floor made Peter stop mid-fight, overwhelmed by the image, and the criminal took his distraction to strike at him again with the machete. He ended up stabbing Peter’s lower torso, the pain so sharp and intense that it almost reminded him of the day his leg broke. Still, the physical stimulation – even if through pain – was enough to bring him back to the here and then and he managed to strike a punch to the man’s face, making him drop limply to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Peter did apply more strength than he intended to and, for a moment, his heart almost gave out due to the fear of having killed the guy. After crawling his way to where the unconscious man was lying, a hand pressed on the bleeding injury on his side, Peter took his pulse and assessed that he was, indeed, alive. Letting out a shaky breath that was a mixture of pain and relief, Peter pinned the man to the floor with his webs and phoned the police to let him know where they could arrest the criminal.

That day – a Wednesday – he dragged himself home, black and white spots covering his vision when he finally entered his room through the window. He was losing blood fast, but he knew there was no one he could reach out for. If he told May, she’d probably give herself a heart attack out of worry; if he went over to Ned’s, he would probably have the same reaction (added to the fact that the sight of blood always made Ned either puke or pass out, which were the last things Peter needed on that moment). He could always call Doctor Cho – he did still have her number –, but the woman would probably assign bed rest to him and now that he was back to being Spider-Man again, he didn’t want to lose it. He really, really didn’t want to lose it. It was the only good thing Peter still had in his life, and he would be damned if he gave it up just because of a stupid injury.

He thanked god May would get home a bit later than usual on that day and found some gauze and bandages in the bathroom cabinet. Holding his breath with a pained hiss, Peter cleansed the wound with alcohol, glad he managed to not scream and/or pass out during the process, even though he was feeling fainter than usual. He knew the wound probably required stitches but he didn’t know how to do them, so counting on his miraculously fast metabolism, he placed the gauze on the top of the cut and wrapped the whole thing up with bandages. There was a chance the machete had cut through an organ, but he trusted his so-called “spider-privileges” to take care of that, as he had told Happy. After having washed the blood away from his body and his hands, and cleaning the bathroom up from any possible evidence of his misfortune, Peter headed to the kitchen to grab himself something to eat in order to make up for the blood loss. After he was satisfied, he headed back to his bedroom and decided to call it a day, if the dizziness and lightheadedness he was feeling was any indicator that he was done for the time being.

Before he fell asleep – or rather, passed out on his bed –, Peter realized with little more than a tentative twitch of his heart that he didn’t even consider reaching out to Mr. Stark for help. Now that the thought occurred him, it felt stupid to feel bad over it, but the knowledge that there was one point in his life in which calling Mr. Stark would definitely be his first thought and option made him feel grief for what they had had and stirred some fresh pain into his increasingly numb heart.

 

 

 

 

 

Thursday was the day he dreaded the most, and it turned out to be the one that made his week officially the worst one _ever._

Not only was the injury on his side throbbing and burning with every breath he took, but that was also the day when he was supposed to meet Dr. Kaplan for the second time. His week had been kind of great so far – going back to being Spider-Man played a major role at that –, but he couldn’t deny that being stabbed by a machete and being forced to go to a therapist appointment he didn’t want to attend made him feel a bit bitter about everything. However, these weren’t the only reasons why Peter elected the week as the Worst One TM.

When he woke up in the morning, he noticed that while the injury on his side had improved a lot overnight, it was still red and puffy around the edges and it would start bleeding whenever he made harsh movements. He cleaned it with alcohol again and replaced the old, blood-covered bandages with fresh ones, now consciously trying not to scream since May was in the kitchen cooking breakfast. He went back to his bedroom once he was done and hid the bloodied bandages so that he could discard them later, when May wasn’t around.

However, when he put on a black shirt with a chemistry pun, he realized that the volume of the bandage covering his skin was evident even through the fabric. Even though the day was not cold and the weather was clear, Peter shoved on one of his sweaters and hoped May wouldn’t ask too many questions about it. After all, he had started to wear sweaters and coats more often after the whole getting-stuck-in-the-freezer-and-almost-dying-of-hypothermia thing happened, and she had never questioned him about it. She probably figured it was a coping mechanism – and it actually was, since Peter felt a lot safer and less anxious when there was a sweater covering his body, after everything that happened –, and neither of them ever brought the subject up. The amount of blankets and duvets with which Peter slept, even in hot days, went unmentioned by May as well.

He was thankful that she did nothing other than look at him for a few more seconds than usual when he walked into the kitchen, red sweater covering his form. The fake cast around his leg had been especially designed so that it made it easier for him to walk around, but he still had to limp a bit and sat down by the kitchen table with just a bit of difficulty. He had breakfast with May, ignoring the way she was constantly looking at him and saying nothing, and when he was about to stand up from the table and bid her goodbye, she reached out for him and grabbed his hand. He instantly flinched, not having expected the touch after May spent almost two weeks without making any sort of physical contact with him, as if he would break beneath her fingers. She mistook Peter’s touch-starvation for uncomfortableness, and retrieved her hand as soon as Peter shrunk on himself.

“Sorry”, she said, even though Peter longed for her to touch his hand again, his arm, his shoulder, anything. He longed for the physical comfort that May used to be good at providing, but instead, she crossed her hands in front of her, leaning her chin on them. “I just… I wanted to talk to you about something. Before you leave”, she clarified, looking slightly guilty and definitely nervous. Peter sighed, already knowing what the conversation would be about. He had hoped May wouldn’t bring it up, but now that she had, he might as well get this done with.

“I know. I’m going”, he said simply, flatly, aware that May would understand what he was talking about. She eyed him with a guilty look.

“Look, Peter…”, she sighed, shaking her head and averting her eyes from his. “If you don’t want to go, I understand. Just…”, she sighed again, tired. “I won’t force you, ok? You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to”.

“I _don’t_ want to”, Peter said, painfully honest. Aunt May faced him again. “But I’ll do it. For you”.

Aunt May gave him a long, assertive look, looking part concerned and part confused.

“You don’t have to do something you don’t want just because of me”, she pointed out, tilting her head slightly. “I do think that these sessions with Dr. Kaplan will help you a lot, but… it’s your choice, honey. You’re almost a grown up, and you’re the cleverest boy I’ve ever met. You can make your own choices. I’ve already told you, probably more than necessary, that I think that Dr. Kaplan will be good for you, but…”, she shrugged, giving him a sad, helpless smile. “It’s up to you. If you don’t want to go, then don’t. I won’t hold it against you, ok?”

Peter stared at her for a while, trying to figure out what to say or do. He definitely didn’t want to go to a therapist, but he had resigned himself to do so, if only for a little while, if only it would make May less worried. He had tried really hard to act like his usual self around her during the week, and perhaps his endeavors had been successful. Perhaps she had noticed that he was going back to smiling and joking and decided he didn’t need therapy. Maybe –

“I can see the smoke coming out of your brain”, May joked, chuckling softly. Peter smiled. “I’m serious, though. Don’t feel forced to go just because I asked you to, ok? I’m telling you that you can skip the appointment if you want. And you can also go back to it in the future, if you feel more prepared”, she offered, almost hopeful. “But I don’t want you to do something that will make you miserable or anxious just to please me”.

Peter lowered his eyes for a moment in deep thought before nodding briefly, feeling like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He was glad that Aunt May understood forcing him into therapy would be counter productive. He looked back up at her with a puzzled look.

“What made you change your mind?”, he asked, voice barely above a whisper. May pursed her lips for a moment before responding.

“I love you, Peter”, she shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. “And I realized that forcing you to go to this therapist was making you miserable. I just want you to be happy”, she tilted her head again. “You’re everything to me. And if you don’t think this woman can help you, then I’ll try my best to do so. Like you said, you can always talk to me”, she smiled.

For some reason, May’s response made him feel more guilty than relieved. No, he couldn’t always talk to her. There had been a time when he could, when he could spill all his secrets on her and be received with nothing other than comprehension and comfort. There had been a time when he was nothing other than Peter Parker, poor Peter Parker, parentless Peter Parker, loser Peter Parker, but a boy who still had an aunt and an uncle who loved him more than anything and that would do whatever it took to raise him as well as they could. Now, he had lost more than he could count – he had lost his uncle, he had lost his innocence, he had lost Mr. Stark, he had lost himself. He was no longer that boy who could go home from school and mope in his bedroom until Aunt May made him half-burned brownies and bought them pizza to make him feel better. Now, if he spilled all his secrets on Aunt May, there was a very high chance she would never want to see him again.

Still, he smiled back at her. There was nothing else he could do. He stood up, grabbed his backpack, thanked her for understanding and respecting his wishes and told her he loved her. She asked him to text her when he got home, even if he decided not to go to the appointment with Dr. Kaplan, and he promised he would. He let his smile drop as soon as he left the apartment, but put it back up again when he walked into Midtown Tech and found Ned and MJ on the corridor.

So far, so good.

Everything went to hell, of course, during the gym class. Peter was allowed to sit out of the class due to his broken leg, but he lingered by the grandstand and watched as Ned tried to make pushups. He was taking the opportunity to get some of his homework done, and was so distracted by it that he didn’t even hear Flash and his friends approaching him until his spider-senses went off like crazy and made him turn his head around just as the gang of bullies appeared beside him.

“Hey, Penis Parker”, Flash greeted in his usually obnoxious tone. Peter sighed and turned back to his homework, ignoring him. Flash sat down beside him, giving him a look over. “You’re not feeling hot in that sweater?”, he raised an eyebrow at Peter, who simply sighed.

“Shouldn’t you be doing pushups or something?”, Peter asked with disinterest, writing the answer to the homework on his notebook. Flash clicked his tongue.

“I don’t need to do pushups, I’m not wimpy like you”, he teased, earning a series of amused chuckles from his friends, who were standing behind Peter. _If only he knew what I can do_ , Peter thought, but immediately waved the thought away from his head. If there was one person who he didn’t want to learn about his identity, that person was Flash.

“Watcha doing over there?”, one of Flash’s friends asked from behind Peter, leaning over his shoulder in order to see what he was writing. The tingle of the boy’s breath on his neck made him feel extremely uncomfortable and suddenly the lights became overly bright and the smell of sweat from his training colleagues became too foul. He was getting sensory overload again.

“Is that your diary?”, another one of the boys asked, earning another row of laughter. Peter sighed again, shrinking away from the guy behind him and sliding on the bench as far away as he could from the group, his notebook hugged closely to his chest.

“It’s homework”, Peter said simply, going back to ignoring the gang of bullies. “Something you guys should work on doing more often, by the way. Ms. Warren will scold you less for getting the answers wrong during class if you actually study a little”, he told Flash, immediately regretting it. Anger took over the boy’s face and his nostrils flared with indignation.

“Why are you so defensive, Parker?”, he asked, getting to his feet. “You got something to hide there?”, he nodded at the notebook, which was now resting on Peter’s lap. He reached out to grab it and snatch it, but Peter managed to hold it and pull back from Flash’s grip.

“Hey man, you can’t copy my homework! Go do your own!”, Peter said as loudly as he could, aware that the mockery would at least embarrass Flash. The boy's worst nightmare probably involved people thinking he needed Peter’s help with homework or something of the kind.

Peter knew he shouldn’t be talking back to his bullies like that, otherwise he’d get in trouble, but honestly, he was getting a bit fed up with Flash and his group of bullies. On the top of that, he had never been good at keeping his mouth shut during moments of stress, otherwise the whole thing with Gargan would have been a lot easier on him.

He had survived Gargan. He could survive an insecure kid like Flash.

“I bet he’s writing about his boyfriend, Leeds”, one of the guys said from behind him, ignoring the fuming-with-rage Flash. Peter sighed and went back to his physics homework.

“It’s the 21st century, pal. I think you can do a little better than homophobic comments”, Peter muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”, the guy asked, leaning forwards. “You talking back to me?”

“I think that sweater is boiling his brains”, another one of the boys said. “He ain’t thinking straight”.

“Yeah”, Flash scoffed. “The heat is making him more stupid than usual”.

It was Peter’s time to scoff. He had always been smarter than Flash and they both knew it, which was probably the reason why the boy always went out of his way to bully him. It was the only way he could make Peter feel as inferior as he felt, but Peter knew better than to point this out aloud. Despite what people believed, he did know better than pushing his luck too far.

“We should do something about it”, one of the guys chuckled behind him. “You’re looking a little sweaty over there, Parker”.

“Yeah, Penis Parker”, another laughed. “You ain’t feeling hot beneath all that?”

“No, I’m good, thanks”, Peter said with disinterest, not taking his eyes away from the notebook as he went to the next physics question. Perhaps he should have looked up, but when he considered this option, it was too late.

All he heard was Flash’s shaky voice – which wasn’t rare to hear, but it was never directed towards Peter – saying “wait, don’t –“, before cold invaded his world and he was down on the floor, lying on his injured side and shaking all over while the freezing water seeped through his sweater and his shirt and his bandage and his pants and his cast and his skin and his shoes and his hair and his body and everything, _everything_ was reduced to that horrible feeling of sheer, unstoppable cold that he had hoped never to feel again.

Faintly, at the back of his mind, Peter realized that one of the bullies must have thrown a gallon of water and ice on the top of him, since they kept those around at the gym for the people who worked out particularly hard. However, all reason escaped him in the face of the cold, because everything around him disappeared – his surroundings, his notebook, the bullies, Flash, the whole damn class in front of him – everything was gone. He was back at the freezer. He was back at the freezer and his leg was broken so badly he could hardly think past the pain, Gargan was lurking somewhere deep in the shadows and he could no longer feel his fingers or his nose or his ears. His limbs would probably go necrotic if he didn’t find a way to warm himself up, but he couldn’t move around because of his leg and the paradoxical urge to get rid of his clothes overwhelmed him, but thankfully he was too weak to do that or he would die. He knew he would die. Mr. Stark wouldn’t manage to find him and he would freeze to death, he was already freezing to death, and all he could think about was May’s and Tony’s miserable faces during his funeral, his tombstone right next to Uncle Ben’s, his body rotting beneath the earth and frozen for all eternity. He remembered hallucinating because of the hypothermia, he remembered losing the feeling on his broken leg, which was frankly a relief, he remembered sobbing and crying out and shouting after Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark, please, I’m down here, I’m stuck, I’m trapped, help me, my leg is broken, I’m freezing to death, I don’t wanna go, Mr. Stark, I don’t wanna go, save me, save me, please, I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go, I’m sorry…

Then there was someone touching his shoulder, squeezing, grabbing him, and the sensation that had grown so unusual to him over the past weeks brought him back to the present and he gasped, loudly, horribly, spitting water and struggling to catch his breath. The air refused to make it to his lungs and his eyes half-focused on the worried face in front of him, which he recognized to be Ned’s. But it couldn’t be Ned, not really, because Peter was in the freezer and Ned didn’t know he was in the freezer, Ned didn’t even know he had been kidnapped and was probably worried sick about his sudden disappearance. Ned’s tear covered face on his funeral was added to Aunt May’s and Tony’s, and Peter wanted to scream, but he didn’t have enough air to do so.

“Peter, what’s happening? What’d they do? Peter, talk to me, you’re freaking me out, dude!”, Ned was saying, looking and sounding desperate, but Peter could do nothing more than writhe on the floor and struggle to breathe, fighting against the thousand-ton weight pressing down on his chest and suffocating. He needed to escape. He needed to get out of there, or he would freeze to death, and Mr. Stark would cry, and May would cry, and Ned would cry, and he didn’t want anyone to feel as miserable as he felt.

“Oh god, is he dying? What’s happening to him?”

“I told you not to throw it on him, you goddamn moron, look what you’ve done!”

“Peter! What’s happening? Talk to me!”

“He can’t breathe, get off him, you’re crowding him, you weirdos!”

“Everyone stay back! Let me get to him! What happened? Did anyone see what happened?”

“Flash threw ice water at him!”

“It wasn’t me! I swear, it wasn’t me, I tried to stop it!”

“Shut up! Everyone knows you bully him!”

“It wasn’t me! It was Jake! I swear! I’d never do it, not when he’s wearing a cast!”

“We need to get him to the nurse, he’s not breathing, it looks like a severe panic attack”

“P-Panic attack? I… I didn’t mean to…”

“Shut the hell up and help me get him to his feet!”

A hand touched his arm and Peter flailed his limbs madly, desperate to get away. He wouldn’t let him drag him to the freezer. Not again. Not this time.

His senses were too overwhelmed with all sorts of different inputs for him to be able to make sense of what was happening, so he did the only thing he could.

He ran.

 

 

 

 

 

Happy was coming back from one of Tony’s errands when his phone started to ring with an unsaved number.

His first instinct was to not pick it up, since it was a personal rule of his not to waste his time with telemarketing or people asking for favors, but then he remembered that he had promised Peter he would always pick up and there was a chance, albeit small, that it could be the kid. He would never be able to tell for sure unless he answered the call, so with a sigh, he swiped the phone screen and took the device to his ear.

“Hogan”.

“Oh my god, is this Happy? Mr. Happy? M-Mr. Hogan, I don’t know, are you the guy, I mean, the, the sir, the – the _man_ who works with Mr. Stark?”, a boyish voice ranted frantically on the line.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down. Who is this?”, Happy asked, frowning. He pulled the car over to prevent an accident and to focus on the call, since he seemed to recognize that voice from somewhere.

“This is Ned, sir, Ned Leeds, I’m Peter Parker’s friend, I called you last Homecoming”, Ned said, sounding very nervous and desperate. Happy’s heart skipped a beat. Why was Peter’s nerdy friend calling him on his personal number?

“Ok, I remember you”, Happy said assertively. “What’s going on? Is Peter ok?”, he asked, feeling worry grow inside his chest. Something told him Ned’s answer wouldn’t please him.

“I don’t know, sir, that’s why I’m calling”, Ned said, sounding breathless. “There was an accident at school and Peter disappeared. I don’t know what happened to him, or where he went. He’s been acting so differently recently, but I tried not to pry because he looked uncomfortable every time I asked him about it, and he’s never reacted like this before and I’m worried he may be hurt because I’d never seen him like that and everyone is worried mad about him and Flash has been in the director’s office for almost an hour and he hasn’t been picking his phone and I’m really scared he’s in trouble or something because he looked really bad when he –“

“Ok, ok, calm down, kid, take a breath”, Happy interrupted, already confused by the amount of information Ned was spilling on him. “I need you to calm down and tell me what happened. Slowly, clearly, and preferably in a chronological order”, he instructed. He could hear the sound of Ned taking deep breaths at the other end of the line before he spoke again.

“Ok. I can do this, ok”, he whispered to himself, breathing. “Ok. So, today we have PE, right? And Peter couldn’t do it because his leg is broken”, he started. Happy nodded.

“Ok. Go on”, he encouraged, trying to control the increasing pace of his heart.

“Right. So he was sitting on one of the benches, right, doing his homework or something. Then Flash and his friends started picking on him, teasing him or something, they always do this, mock Peter and push him around but usually it’s more verbal than anything. Flash isn’t exactly buff so he can’t beat Peter up, his friends can but I think he prefers to insult Peter. He’s always saying mean things about Peter not having a dad, about his parents being dead, about him being poor, stuff like that. Peter usually sucks it up, sometimes he answers back, but they never get physical”.

“What happened, Ned?”, Happy asked, dread evident in his tone, because something about this narrative told him that Flash and his bullies _had_ gotten physical this time. Oh, man, Happy would _kick their asses_. Mocking Peter for his parents’ deaths? What kind of monster did that? From what Peter complained to him during car trips, Happy thought Flash and his gang were just a bunch of common assholes that picked on him for being nerdy, not for something as personal as his parents. He would have a serious talk with Tony about that later, see what they could do about that.

“They – they threw water on him. He was wearing a sweater – he’s been wearing sweaters a lot recently, even when it’s hot, but I never asked him about it because I didn’t want to push it. But – but they were mocking him about it and one of them threw iced water on him. They said they didn’t do anything else, and I don’t know what happened because I was busy with the pushups, but next thing I know Peter was on the floor gasping for breath and shaking so hard I thought he was convulsing for a moment. He kept asking for Mr. Stark and, I don’t know, Mr. Happy, I was so scared, I’d never seen him like that. The teach said he was having a panic attack and he was really pale and shaking and he looked like he was dying. We tried getting him to the nurse but when I grabbed him he started fighting and he ran away. He grabbed his backpack and rushed out of the gym so fast none of us could catch him. I don’t know where he went, but he looked so bad, I don’t know where he is. He didn’t… He didn’t look so good, Mr. Happy. I’m calling you because I thought you or Mr. Stark could track him or something, find out where he is, make sure he’s ok. Everyone’s really worried. The school wanted to contact May but I lied and told them I’d already called her. I don’t know how much longer they’ll believe me, I _really_ suck at lying. Mr. Happy? Are you still there?”, Ned asked at Happy’s prolonged silence.

“You – You said they threw ice water on him? As in water with ice?”, he asked for confirmation after a few moments, because he couldn’t quite believe his ears. Of all the bad things they could have done to Peter after everything he had gone through, this was the worst one, just after breaking his leg.

“Yes, yes they did, and I’m really worried about him because his reaction was really really frightening and I just need help to find him, I don’t know where he went, he could be hurt!”

“All right, calm down, kid”, Happy said, even though he was past the point of calming down himself. “I’ll talk to Tony and we’ll find Peter together, ok? Stay put and try to stop them from calling May. I’ll call you back when I find him”, he instructed.

“Oh, thank god, ok, please don’t forget to do that”, Ned said, sounding extremely relieved. “MJ is almost going after him herself. Everyone’s worried sick here”.

“Yes, I suppose you are”, Happy shook his head and sighed, turning the car on again. He needed to get to Tony. Fast. “I’ve got to go, kid. I’ll call you back when I have news”.

“Ok, thank you Mr. Happy”, Ned said, breathing more easily now. “Don’t forget to call –“, he started, but Happy hung up before he could continue and tossed the phone aside to the passenger’s seat. He would probably get a ticket for surpassing the speed limit, but he didn’t care. He had to talk to Tony and find the kid ASAP.

He knew Tony well enough to know that Peter’s so called panic attack had probably not been just _any_ panic attack. The whole event Ned described sounded to him like the one thing he didn’t want to associate with Peter – _PTSD_ –, but he wasn’t the right person to tell. He wasn’t the right person to find Peter or talk to him about it, either, which was why Tony needed to get his damn head out of his butt and _be there_ for the kid. Peter obviously needed him, and Tony was the only fool who disagreed. If this whole ice water accident didn’t turn out to be enough to open his eyes, then Happy would have to shake some sense into his friend. Or maybe punch some sense into him – whatever worked best.

He barely bothered to park the car and left it unlocked in order to  run his way up to Tony’s lab, where the man surely would be. Ever since what happened with Peter… _happened_ , Tony barely left the lab anymore. He had buried himself in work, shutting himself from the world and from the ~~few~~ people in his life. Happy could see his health deteriorating further and further with each allnighter he pulled, and he had already postponed the serious talk he was supposed to have with the man for a long time. Now that Peter’s safety was on the line again, maybe Tony would finally regain his sense.

He burst into the workshop unannounced, panting from the effort it took him to get there fast and rushing towards Tony with what was probably a desperate look on his face. Tony turned his head to face him with a raised eyebrow, surprised by his friend sudden – and unexpected – outburst, but his forehead quickly creased into a frown as soon as he saw the wideness of Happy’s usually stern eyes. To see Happy, who was usually a nonchalant and well-composed man, act so frantic and desperate, could only mean trouble.

“Peter’s missing”, was all that Happy managed to pant through his tiredness, but the words were enough to send Tony flying from his chair and into a standing position, eyes as wide as Happy’s.

“ _What_?”, he asked assertively, tilting his head abruptly to the side as if he was indignant that Happy would play such a prank on him. Happy leaned his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath, panting heavily, but he managed to continue:

“His friend Ned called me. Apparently, some bullies threw water with ice on him and he had a panic attack. He ran away and no one knows where he is. He isn’t picking up his phone and Ned said he was pretty shaken up. He asked for you”, he added the last detail just because he knew it was bound to convince Tony to finally take a stand.

The billionaire swallowed dry and sat back on his rolling chair, clearly shocked and at a loss for what to do. Happy, albeit barely able to breath properly, rolled his eyes and took a step closer to him.

“Look, I get it that you feel guilty for what happened to the kid and you’ve been taking some time to lick your wounds and come to terms with this whole Gargan thing, but you need to sort your shit out, Tony”, he panted. “The only one who thinks Peter doesn’t need you is _you_. And I’ve been seeing the kid every day for the past week; I can see how badly he’s doing on his own. He isn’t a fan of the idea of going to therapy, he’s barely talking to me anymore, every time he jokes or laughs you can see it in his eyes it’s fake. He’s not as good as hiding his feelings as you are, even though he probably thinks he’s doing great at fooling May and me. I know she’s been calling you like crazy to talk about this and you haven’t been picking up – Rhodes told me”, he explained at the same time Tony snapped his head up, an indignant look on his face. “Peter needs you and you _aren’t there for him_. Does that remind you of anyone?”, he snapped, well aware that he was hitting a soft spot. Tony’s eyes squinted into and offended look and he shook his head, but he eventually creased his lips and lowered his gaze in acknowledgement of the truth behind Happy’s accusation. “Look, all I’m saying is”, Happy continued, panting a little less than before and softening his gaze. “You’re good for Peter. He misses you. He probably got into his head that you stopped talking to him because of something he did, and not because you’re trying to protect him. I can see the guilt in his eyes whenever someone mentions your name. And after you talked to him on Monday… I don’t know what you said to him, Tony, he wouldn’t tell me, but the kid looked _destroyed_. He didn’t say a single word on the way back home. He had just gotten clearance to be Spider-Man again and he didn’t say _one single word_ about it. Do you have any idea how creepy that was?”, he raised his eyebrows at Tony. “I’m worried about him. I’ve been for a long time, but now I’m even more, because _everything_ about the kid’s reaction to having ice thrown at him _screamed_ PTSD to me”, Tony’s head snapped up again at this, and a flash of fear passed through his eyes.

“What…?”, he asked, this time sounding lost.

“Ned says he was shaking and barely breathing on the floor, calling for you, and when someone tried to touch him he got startled and ran away. He probably thought he was back in the freezer with Gargan, since it was _ice water_ ”, Happy pointed out. Tony sighed heavily and ran a hand across his face.

“Shit”, he said, coursing his fingers through his hair. “Shit, this shouldn’t be happening”.

“I know it shouldn’t. Which is why you have to talk to him”, Happy pointed out, feeling a bit in a hurry. They needed to stop discussing Tony’s guilt issues and go after Peter at once, before the boy managed to get himself into even more trouble.

“What can I possibly tell him? ‘Hey, kid, sorry I’ve been ignoring you for two weeks straight and was kind of an ass to you on Monday, but I really care about you and I don’t know how to show you that you’re one of the most important people in my life’? Like that’s going to happen”, Tony scoffed bitterly.

“Well, it needs to”, Happy argued. “Because it’s the truth. I know you suck at verbalizing your emotions, but Peter needs to hear it, or he’ll just keep following you down the path of unreasonable martyrdom and blame himself every time something bad happens. God, Tony, how would you have felt if you had gone through _everything_ that Peter has and then the most important person in your life started ignoring you instead of being there for you?”, he pointed out, shaking his head.

“I’m not the most important person in his life”, Tony frowned self-deprecatingly.

“I honestly have no idea how you graduated from MIT”, Happy snorted, and before Tony could protest or even do anything other than direct him with a glare, he continued: “What? It’s true! This kid is the best thing that ever happened to you and you’re letting him slip away because you’re too _stubborn_ to listen to literally everyone else around you. He _needs_ you, Tony, for _god’s sake_. Even _I_ can see that. And you being away from him is doing more harm than good, if his recent behavior is anything to go by”.

Tony sniffed and turned his back to Happy after a few moments of staring silently at the floor, going back to typing on his computer as if Happy wasn’t even there. Happy watched for a few moments before scoffing and turning his head to the side in frustration and disbelief. A few seconds of complete silence that was broken only by Tony’s constant typing filled the room.

“You know, you told me once that you were trying to break the pattern”, he added, disappointment evident in his tone. “That you were trying to be better than Howard. You have the chance to do that. Right now. You have the chance to show Peter you care about him through more than sending him over to an expensive therapist. You could really help him”.

Tony continued to type down in silence, not turning to look at Happy or even acknowledging his words at all. Happy sighed heavily.

“Yeah, you know what, whatever. Just help me find Peter, because Ned was really worried about him and I don’t think he’s ok. He needs someone to be there for him, even if that someone isn’t you”, he scoffed.

Tony continued to type down in silence.

“Tony! Are you even listening to me?”, Happy asked, downright annoyed now. He crossed the remaining space between himself and his friend at the exact moment Tony stood up from his chair, turned off the computer screen, grabbed his jacket and walked straight past Happy, looking like he was in a hurry. Happy stayed glued to his feet, staring at his friend with a confused look. Once he realized Happy wasn’t following him, Tony turned around at the door to the workshop, holding it open and raising one inquiring eyebrow at the driver.

“Are you coming or not?”, he asked, as if his intentions had been obvious. Happy frowned and slowly followed Tony, who continued to hold the door open for him.

“Coming where?”, he asked once he walked out of the workshop, Tony close on his heels.

“To get Peter”, Tony explained, once again, as if it was not only obvious but the only possible answer to Happy’s question. “While you were delivering your soliloquy, I was working on tracking his location through his suit. I got it, and he’s not far from here”, he clarified, and Happy let out a frustrated sigh of disbelief. Tony could be such an ass some times. “It was a beautiful speech, by the way”, he added sarcastically as they stepped inside the elevator, making Happy roll his eyes. “Oscar worthy. It warmed my heart, but I’d add a bit more of tears and sobbing to make it more authentic”, he added, tapping the back of his hand on Happy's chest. Happy shook his head.

“I don’t know why I even bother”, he said, more to himself than to Tony, who had already averted his attention and was fussing with his phone. “Where is he?”, Happy asked, eger to just find Peter at once.

“He’s still in Queens”, Tony replied, tapping something quickly on his phone. “On a random building. We can get there in ten, and if he moves, I’ll know”, he added absentmindedly. “Does May know?”, he raised an eyebrow at Happy as they reached the garage.

“No, I told Ned to keep the school from telling her”, Happy responded.

“So she’ll learn soon”, Tony clicked his tongue. “Peter always says this Ned kid is terrible at lying. Whoa, you call that _parking_?”, he asked in surprise once he saw the car Happy had been driving, poorly parked and completely out of the painted lines on the floor. Happy rolled his eyes.

“I was in a hurry to get to you, ok?”, he said, sounding a bit too defensive.

“This was an eye opener”, Tony snorted as he got inside the car. “I’m getting a new driver”, he jested. Instead of bothering to respond, Happy got inside the car as well and turned the ignition, taking off in as much of a hurry as he had arrived.

Tony put Peter’s location on the car’s GPS and Happy followed it to the letter, worried about the boy and desperate to get to him soon. Even though Tony was jesting and being sarcastic, he knew the man was worried and anxious too, if the way he kept bouncing his leg and tapping his fingers on the door were anything to go by. He kept staring out the window, face turned away from Happy, looking stern and in deep thought. He didn’t say another word during the drive, and looking upon Tony’s face illuminated by the bright, hot sun shining warmly on the top of them, Happy realized he hadn’t seen his friend look so worried and tired in a long time.

Finally, when they were two minutes away from Peter’s location, Happy spoke up and asked something that had been stirring his curiosity ever since Tony said he had found where Peter was.

“What convinced you?”, he broke the silence that had dominated the car so far. Tony tilted his head towards his friend but didn’t face away from the window.

“Hm?”, he asked absentmindedly, not following Happy’s question.

“To finally make things right with Peter. To come after him”, Happy clarified. “What was it that convinced you?”

Tony continued to stare off the window for several seconds in silence, leg stopping its bouncing and fingers stopping their rhythmical drumming. He lowered his gaze and sighed heavily, staying silent for so long that Happy thought he’d never answer the question. It was only when he pulled the car over in front of the building where Peter apparently was that Tony finally spoke up, guilt in his eyes and tiredness in his features. He looked almost old.

“You said he asked for me”, he explained simply, not meeting Happy’s eyes. “It’s past the time I realized that's all it should take for me to answer”.

Then he opened the car’s door and stepped out, walking into the building.

Happy didn’t follow him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? I said they'd _talk_.  
>  Just kidding, though. There's only one chapter left (even though I AM considering a short epilogue), so resolution is on its way. No more unsolved drama and conflict! Hurray! They'll finally sort things out!  
> Thank you guys for being patient and I hope you like this one! I can't believe this is almost finished!  
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated and hey, thanks for reading. I'd be nothing without you.


	12. Chapter 12

Warm.

He was warm.

The sun was shining hot on his face and the sticky hair glued to his forehead wasn’t so cold anymore. His clothes were damp and clinging to his skin, the leg trapped inside his fake cast was stinging and itching and he felt downright disgusting, but he was warm, and that was all that mattered.

His eyes were closed as the sun shone brightly and warmly upon his face, turning the world beneath his lids into a mass of light-red, or maybe even a salmon color. If he tried really hard to concentrate, he could see abstract shapes shining in bright colors as the sunlight delivered patters into his retinas, and for that moment, just that moment, nothing else in the world mattered.

Peter didn’t know how long he had been lying on the roof of the building, body splayed on concrete and being overheated by the sun. He was still in his sweater, and the way it was mostly dried off by now indicated that he had been there for a bit longer than he could make sense of. He didn’t really mind, though. He was warm. Warm was good. Warm was better than cold. It didn’t matter that his skin was burning and his brain felt like mashed potato.

He felt like he was melting, drifting off, becoming undone under the hot sun. He could no longer tell if the dampness surrounding was coming from his clothes or his own sweat. His head felt mushy, his skin felt roasted and he could barely feel anything beyond the hot concrete supporting him and the vague feeling of urgency to do something, find something. A sense of longing for something he did not know, or remember. Every now and then, a spike of pain coming from his lower torso would bring him momentarily out of his stupor, only for him to drift away into his own thoughts again a moment later, unable to focus on anything for too long. He was vaguely aware that feeling like this wasn’t normal, that there was probably something wrong with him, but he was too tired and warm to try and figure out what he could possibly do to make things better.

 _Could_ he even make things better? He didn’t think so. Mr. Stark was mad with him and May thought he was someone he wasn’t… His life was going downhill and, no matter how hard he tried to fix things, nothing worked out. Lying under the sun and drifting away, on the other hand, was the most relaxed he had felt in ages… Even though he was starting to feel like there were spiders crawling on his skin. Spiders and scorpions and all types of revolting animals that left scratchy feelings on his skin and made him remember things that he would rather leave forgotten, because dealing with them caused too much pain. He tried to swipe the arachnids away, but found his arms too heavy to move.

He didn’t open his eyes until an all-too-familiar voice broke him out of his feverish delusion, sending a spike of shock and anxiety through his previously numb chest. His sluggish eyes immediately shot wide open as soon as the sound reached his ears, because those words, that voice, belonged to no one other than – it couldn’t be, it was – it –

“Oh my god, kid, what are you _doing_ there?!”

He tried to tilt his head towards Mr. Stark, but his movements were too slow, and the billionaire reached him and crouched on the floor beside him before Peter could even complete the synapses that it took for his brain to move his head. Mr. Stark’s cool – overly cool – hand found its way to Peter’s forehead and the boy flinched at the contact, because cold wasn’t good, cold was bad and he didn’t want to feel cold anymore, just warm. Tony misinterpreted Peter’s flinch and immediately retrieved his hand from the boy’s overheated forehead, allowing it to linger beside him in a way that indicated he was desperate to touch Peter, but too afraid to do so.

“How long have you been here, Pete?”, Mr. Stark asked after a quick assessment. Peter’s face was flushed a bright red, his pupils were blown wide open, his movements were sluggish and his lips were chapped. From the contact Tony had made with the boy’s forehead, he could tell it was way hotter than human skin should feel. He was probably suffering from a heat stroke from lying beneath the sun for too long. Which was, honestly, the very last thing Tony had expected to be forced to deal with in his life. First, he had found a hypothermic Peter, and now, an insolated one… The boy didn’t seem to be able to escape from extremes, and it was driving Tony crazy.

“Don’t know”, Peter managed to mutter after almost a minute of ponderation; his lips parting as he began to pant. His voice was croaked and small in a way that Tony had only heard once, in the worst day of his life – and in a way that he had never wanted to hear again. Had he done this to Peter? Had the distance he had put between then driven the boy into… this?

“Ok, let’s get you out of this sun”, Tony announced, reaching to the boy so that he could drag him towards the shade. Even if he couldn’t tell how long Peter had been lying there directly beneath the sun in the middle of a hot afternoon in Queens while wearing a damn sweater, he could tell it had been too long. The boy’s only protest after Tony hugged his torso from behind and dragged him across the floor was a small groan and something that sounded suspiciously like ‘but warm…”.

He carefully placed Peter on a sitting position against the wall of the building’s rooftop, on a spot that was already covered in a cool shade and away from the sun’s hot exposure. Peter’s head lolled and his chin was glued to his chest, his eyes slipping close once again. Tony didn’t think he would have ever feel as terrified as he had been in the moment he found Peter inside that freezer, and yet here the kid was, surprising him again. He tapped a hand against Peter’s burning cheek, urging the boy to blink his eyes open again and stare up at him with feverish confusion.

“Mr. Stark?”, he asked after staring at Tony’s face for long, long moments. Tony sighed, crouched beside Peter, and shook his head slightly before sitting down on the floor in front of the boy and fishing his phone out of his pocket.

“Great observation skills, kid”, he said simply as he searched Happy’s contact on his phone list. Peter needed medical assistance, immediately, but there was no way he would be able to get the boy downstairs and into the car without help.

Even though he was smaller than Tony – the height difference was barely noticeable and couldn’t be bigger than a centimeter or two, but Tony insisted on calling Peter ‘smaller than him’, because he would be damned if his kid actually grew _taller_ than him –, the kid was buff and therefore heavy. Even though Tony was a strong man, he was no genetically modified super-soldier and his health had definitely seen better days, so he could use with some help. The possibility of feeling humiliated by asking Happy to help him went unconsidered by his mind, since his first priority was getting Peter to safety.

“Stay put, ok?”, Tony told Peter, sparing him a quick glimpse just to check if his eyes were still open before going back to tapping on his phone. “I’ll call Happy to help me get you to the car. This building is really old and doesn’t have an elevator, so I can’t carry you down all those stairs”.

“No need to carry”, Peter sighed almost dreamily, lifting his head and allowing it to lean on the wall behind him, eyes slipping close again. “I can walk”.

“Of course you can”, Tony scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Keep those spider-eyes open, kiddo”, he instructed, noticing how Peter’s face had become relaxed. This whole situation felt like a nightmare-induced hellish flashback of the freezer incident, except it was the extreme opposite version, because Peter was burning up instead of freezing.

“Mr. Stark?”, Peter asked again, and even though he sounded tired and slurry, at least he didn’t sound as… disoriented as Tony had expected.

Something that really freaked him out back when he found a half-frozen Peter was the fact that the kid, his brilliant, smart, genius kid, could barely even form a sentence without sounding completely out of it. Frozen Peter had been slurry, and sluggish, much like he was now, but he had also been completely discombobulated. Now, Peter was clearly not ok, but there was some sort of lucidity in his tone that had not been there when Tony saved him from freezing to death. He sounded tired and perhaps a bit confused, yes, but his voice was certain in a way that eased Tony’s frantic heart enough for him not to tap the call button beneath his thumb right away and call Happy up. Instead, he lowered his hand and stared at Peter’s flushed face, brown, glistening eyes glued to tired, older ones. Then, Peter said the words that sent a spike of pain so intense across Tony’s chest that he instinctively wondered whether his absent arc reactor was malfunctioning.

“Why are you here?”, Peter asked with a hurt, albeit curious tone of voice. His eyes were focused on Tony with an intensity that indicated that he was _certainly_ suffering from heat stroke. The Peter Tony had met on Stark Industries on the previous Monday had barely dared to meet his eyes for longer than a couple seconds a time. This Peter was staring at him with the same intensity of the sun that had nearly melted his brain down.

“I came for you”, Tony explained with sincerity, not quite able to keep himself from putting on his nonchalant tone of voice, as if looking for Peter after a week of not even bothering to visit him, despite of everything the kid had gone through, was _no biggie_. “Your friend Ned told us what happened back at school, and I…”, Tony swallowed dry, hesitating. He needed to say the words. He knew he needed to. _And I worried about you. I wanted to see if you were ok. I wanted to make sure you aren’t suffering from PTSD_.

 _Stark men are made of iron_ , Howard’s voice repeated in his head. If he showed weakness, if he let people know he cared, they would only use it against him. They always used him against him. He couldn’t say the words. He couldn’t let Peter know. The few, scarce, rare minutes his father bothered to spend with him throughout his life had been entirely dedicated to making Tony learn and understand that he couldn’t trust anyone. He had ignored his father’s lesson, and look at what happened. Obie. Steve. People who he cared about, and who betrayed him because he let his guard down. He couldn’t do that again. He couldn’t _go through that_ again. He cared about Peter too much. If the boy ever betrayed him like that… He didn’t think his heart would be able to take it, reactor or not.

But staring down at Peter’s flushed face, seeing Peter’s wide, expressive brown eyes, seeing the way they glistened further and further, as if he was holding back tears… Seeing the way his hair clung in a disheveled mess on his sweaty forehead, seeing the tiny, barely noticeable freckles on his cheek stand out on the burning skin, seeing the purity in those eyes, the way they were begging for an explanation, for understanding, for a way to make sense of things… Something in Tony’s chest broke at that. Something that he couldn’t fix and put back together, even if he wanted to. Something that helped him make a choice.

 _You know, you told me once that you were trying to break the pattern. That you were trying to be better than Howard. You have the chance to do that. Right now. You have the chance to show Peter you care about him through more than sending him over to an expensive therapist. You could really help him_ , Happy’s words from before echoed in his mind.

His friend was right. Throughout his entire childhood, Tony had craved for nothing other than attention and love from his father. The rare moments in which he bothered to acknowledge Tony’s general existence, he spent on trying to mold him into his will, on making Tony become an extension of him and his legacy. He had taught Tony time and time again that he should not display emotion, that he should not trust anyone, that he should not be weak. And yes, maybe Howard had been right. Maybe he shouldn’t do those things. But Howard had also beaten him, and neglected him, and treated him as if he was just another one of his creations, instead of his son. So Howard and his teachings could go to hell. Because Obie had betrayed him, and Steve had betrayed him, and the whole world could betray him, for all he cared, because looking at Peter’s face, and looking into Peter’s eyes, Tony was sure, absolutely sure, that there was no way this boy would ever, ever break his trust. Peter could lie about being hurt, or about staying too late on patrols, or about getting himself into dangers bigger than he could deal with yet, but Tony knew, in his heart, that there was not a single drop of maleficence inside of that kid. He would never use Tony’s feelings against him. He would never purposefully hurt Tony.

And even if he did, Tony decided it was worth the risk. He loved the kid. There was no way out of it, now. If Peter broke his heart – well, he didn’t want to think about what would happen then. But he knew it was worth the risk, because Peter was brilliant, and kind, and gentle, and loving, and youthful, and funny, and all the things Tony knew he could have been, had things turned out different for him in the past. Peter was like a better version of him, a purer version, a more beautiful version. He didn’t want this kid to suffer ever, ever again, and he would to whatever he could to make sure of that.

“I came because I care about you, Peter”, Tony mustered all of his courage to say, managing to keep a straight face as he did so. Peter’s eyes never left him, but his brow slowly furrowed in confusion as his heatstroked brain made sense of the words. Tony’s heart was beating madly inside his chest, almost painfully so, but he needed to keep going. He needed to say the words before he chickened out. That was why he had come, right? Because staying away from Peter was making him miserable, and it was making _Peter_ miserable too, and he couldn’t bear it any longer. May had insisted he talked to Peter. Happy and Rhodes wouldn’t get off his case about it. Everyone kept telling him that Peter needed him as much as he needed Peter. There was no reason to be scared. The kid wouldn’t mock him. The kid wouldn’t reject him. He just needed to _get the words out_. Why was it so hard?

“W-What?”, Peter asked hesitantly, clearly confused, as if he couldn’t quite believe that Tony actually cared about him. Christ, what had he done? Had he really distanced himself so much, had he really been so much of an asshole that now it was unfathomable to Peter that Tony actually cared? Even when Peter was one of the most important people in his life?

He needed to fix this. He was anxious, and afraid, and this whole ‘talking-about-things-and-being-honest-about-feelings’ was a completely uncharted territory for him. He wasn’t any good at it. He had never been _taught_ how to be good at it.

“Listen, kid”, Tony started, not really meeting Peter’s eyes – there was only so much he could do – and looking uncomfortable. His face was slightly tilted to the side so that he didn’t have to face Peter straight away, but could still spot the kid’s reactions from the corners of his eyes. “I’m not good at this”, he said with sincerity, deciding that was the best course of action. “I’ve never been good at this. Remember that whole ferry incident last year, when I called you and you told me you were in band practice? I tried to tell you something that day before you cut me off and hung up on me”, he scoffed, remembering the whole incident. It felt like it had happened a lifetime ago. “I told you I was trying to break the cycle of shame. My dad wasn’t a really good dad”, he ignored the way his throat felt constricted as he said the words and the way his brain kept screaming STOP TALKING ABOUT THIS!!! “He never encouraged me. Never told me he loved me. Hell, he never even said he _liked_ me”, he smiled without humor, shaking his head and sniffing. “When I was a kid, he always told me to keep my feelings inside. And that’s what I’ve been doing all my life”, he shrugged, still not meeting Peter’s eyes. Despite of that, he could tell the kid was listening with close attention. “As you can probably tell, this is not something exactly healthy. And it only ever caused me more trouble than not”, he sighed, blinking his eyes several times and mustering the courage he needed to look Peter in the eyes. He wasn’t good at doing this, but even _he_ knew he needed to at least look at the kid’s face when he said the words. Finally, after moments of silence that felt like an eternity, he turned his head in order to face Peter. “What I’m trying to say is:”, he hesitated, swallowing dry. Taking a deep breath, he continued: “I care about you, kid. I –“, he bit his lower lip, forcing himself to continue. He couldn’t chicken out now. He needed to say it. Peter _needed to hear it_. He needed to know. “You’re really important to me. When I first showed up at your ridiculously small apartment in Queens for the first time, I – … I never expected that I would”, he cleared his throat, “that I would end up… caring so much about this nerdy spider-kid that likes physics puns and is capable of achieving so many incredible things. I never expected that –“, another heavy sigh, as he tried to urge his frantically beating heart to calm down. He took a deep breath. “That you would end up being like a son to me”.

Peter continued to stare at him, eyes wide and attentive. His lips were parted slightly as he heard the words and his face looked even more flushed than before, if that was even possible. Even though Tony had achieved more in those few minutes than he had in his whole life, when it came to feelings, it still felt like something was missing. Something that he had only managed to say to a handful of people before, something that he rarely said, and something that Peter needed to know, because it was real. Something important. Something that scared him to death and that made him vulnerable; something that would certainly be the end of him but he didn’t care, he couldn’t care, because it was the best thing that had ever happened in his life.

“I…”, Tony sighed. “I love you, Pete”.

Peter continued to stare at him in silence, blinking his sluggish eyes several times as if his brain couldn’t quite compute what he was being told. He stayed like that for several moments, opening and closing his mouth like a fish as he struggled to comprehend the words that had just left Tony’s mouth. An eternity passed without neither of them daring to say anything. And then –

“… Why?”

Ok, that definitely wasn’t the answer Tony had been expecting.

 Peter was frowning, looking genuinely confused as to why Tony could possibly love him. The fact that Peter seemed unable to comprehend that there was a possibility that Tony actually loved him like a son made him more worried than anything. Had he really neglected Peter that bad? Had he really become like Howard?

“What – What do you mean _why_ , kid?”, Tony asked, equally confused and trying his best to hide his fear beneath a nervous chuckle. “I gotta be honest with you; that wasn’t the answer I was expecting”, he jested, trying, as always, to hide his insecurity behind sarcasm and humor. “Maybe an ‘I love you too, Mr. Stark!’, or maybe an ‘I know’, if you’re trying to make pop culture references. Maybe even a ‘thank you’; that definitely wouldn’t be a first”, he raised an eyebrow at Peter. If possible, the kid’s frown deepened and he shook his head, looking more lucid than a few moments before, but also very serious in a way Tony had never seen him. Now that he stopped to think about it, there was something different about Peter, even in the day they had met by accident at Stark Industries. He looked more gloomy, more miserable. That was expectable of someone who had gone through everything Peter had, but… there was something else behind it. Something darker.

“No, of course I love you, Mr. Stark”, Peter said, shaking his head and saying Tony’s dreaded three words as if they were the most obvious thing in the world. Tony didn’t even have time to decide how he felt about hearing Peter tell him that before the boy continued: “But I’m – I’m a murderer. How could you possibly…?”, he shook his head again, as if he thought the possibility was absolutely ridiculous. “… Love me?”, he concluded in a small voice that was barely above a whisper.

Tony stared at Peter with a blank face for several moments.

“Ok”, he said finally, voice flat. “What the hell are you talking about?”, he asked, sounding like a father who is trying to find out what mischief their child did in his absence.

It was Peter who looked away this time, eyes turning downwards and face paling the slightest bit. He looked uncomfortable and guilty, but there was also a deep sense of regret etched so clearly on his face that Tony decided that, even if Peter _had_ murdered someone while he wasn’t looking, he would probably forgive the kid. Peter was a rare type of person that you only find in the world every other century, owning a special type of goodness and kindness that changed people’s lives and History along with it. Tony was sure that whatever it was he thought he had done, couldn’t actually be that bad. Peter couldn’t actually be a murderer… right?

“Please, don’t make me say it, Mr. Stark”, Peter asked in a small, fearful voice, as if he was genuinely scared that Tony would lash out on him and get him arrested if he said the words aloud. Tony shook his head in confusion and worry, dragging himself on the floor so that he could sit beside Peter, instead of in front of him. He placed a comforting hand on Peter’s shoulder and the boy flinched away, looking overwhelmed. His face was turned away from Tony, but the billionaire still managed to catch the hint of tears running down his flushed cheeks.

“Peter”, Tony called, trying to urge Peter to look at him. “Hey, Pete”, he added, when his voice only caused the boy to turn his face further away. Tony sighed in frustration. He definitely wasn’t good at this. “Look, kid, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m serious – I _don’t_. You need to tell me so I can understand”, he attempted, being as patient as possible. Tony thought that was the right thing to say and that he was actually doing a good job trying to talk about feelings with a teenager, until Peter flinched at the words and turned to look at him with a betrayed, hurt look.

“I-If you don’t k-know, then why…?”, he asked, something that looked like disbelief flashing through his eyes. “Why did you shut me out after what happened?”

Tony’s face fell and his shoulders slumped at the accusation, regret and guilt weighting heavy on his heart. He had hoped he wouldn’t have to explain this in detail to Peter, that he would just accept the ‘my dad was a dick so I don’t understand feelings’ excuse and forgive Tony for being equally a dick. Of course, Peter was right to ask about it – he deserved to know. If Tony was going to be honest with him, he needed to be completely honest, and not choose the parts that were most convenient for him. With a sigh, he decided to explain.

“I… I was afraid, Pete”, he said with sincerity, hating how weak he felt for saying the words – for admitting that out loud. Peter had so much power over him – did he even know that? “When I found out that you had been kidnapped, that you were in danger, I freaked out. I did everything I could to get you back before they could hurt you, but…”, he hesitated. “When I got to the factory and I found you, I… I thought you were dead”, he said in a grim tone. Peter continued to eye him with hurt eyes, but there was no malice or accusation in them – only anticipation. “And I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared in my life before. Not even back in Afghanistan”, he suppressed a shiver. Peter’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of a subject he knew was so sensitive to Tony, and he relaxed a bit, leaning a bit closer towards Tony instead of flinching away from him.

“Mr. Stark…”, he said, even though he didn’t sound like he knew what to say next.

“You had a pretty nasty fever”, Tony opted to continue, ignoring the way his chest felt tight and constricted by the memory of Peter wriggling on the bed and groaning in delusion, brow scrunched in pain and sweat drenching his burning body. “And I couldn’t help but to think that I had gotten there too late, that you were going to die even though I had found you, and that none of this would have happened if I hadn’t gotten so close to you in the first place”, he shrugged. Peter blinked slowly at him. Lowering his head for a few moments, Tony gathered the strength to say what he needed to say next. He knew this was the point of no return. The event horizon. He knew that Peter might be so hurt by his reasons, his foolish reasons, that he might want to stop speaking to him altogether. He knew that Peter might not forgive him – and Tony couldn’t blame him for it. But it needed to be said. “This was all my fault, Peter. The only reason they kidnapped you was because they thought you were my son – because I let you get so close, that you being my son didn’t sound weird to people. And if it hadn’t been for me – I – you wouldn’t have…”, he trailed off, unable to say the words. Unwilling to remember what had happened because of him. “I thought it would be better for you if I stayed away. I’m – I’m a bullseye, Pete”, he shrugged miserably. Peter eyed him with close attention. “The people who are close to me always end up getting hit. And I would never forgive myself if something like that happened to you again”, he concluded. “So I thought it would be better if I stood my distance. To keep you safe”.

Peter looked away from him as he computed everything he had just heard, face falling in realization and dread and something else Tony couldn’t really make sense of. His breathing sped up, his flushed face paled further and he looked like he wanted to cry and scream at the same time. Tony’s heart broke all over again as he realized that this was his fault, that _he_ had made his kid miserable again, but before he could apologize and ask Peter what he could possibly do to earn his forgiveness, the boy snapped his head and stared at him with eyes that were wet, terrified, wide, but, most importantly, _hopeful_.

“S-So you d-didn’t shut m-me out because I k-k-killed Gargan?”, he asked, voice wobbly with so many emotions that Tony felt like he had been punched in the stomach. _What_?

“Peter”, he said simply, his own breathing speeding up as everything clicked together and a horrible realization dawned upon him. His face scrunched up in horror and confusion as he stared at Peter, who was unraveling further and further into a panicking mess with each shaky breath he took. The kid was about to burst into sobs any second now – he was sure of it. “Peter, you thought – you thought I stayed away because of _that_?”, he asked, because oh, god, if Peter had really spent this whole time _blaming_ himself for everything that he had gone through, Tony would have a lot more apologies to do. If he had really made Peter think that he was to blame for defending himself then – then Tony would never, ever be able to make up to him. Oh, god, what had he done?! He should have listened to Cho, and Rhodes, and Happy, and May, and –

“W-W-What k-kind of hero kills p-people?”, Peter asked, embarrassed by the tears that were running down his cheeks but unable to stop them. Tony shook his head, but he continued. “I c-could have found a way. I could have… f-found a way to stop him without having to k-kill him. B-But I didn’t”, he sniffed and whimpered, breaking Tony’s heart. Peter tried to wipe the tears away from his face, but they were quickly replaced by fresh ones. “I’m a m-murderer”, he concluded, lowering his head in shame.

“Kid”, Tony touched Peter’s shoulder again, squeezing it hard to call his attention and feeling glad that the boy didn’t flinch away from the touch this time. He kept his head bowed as he sobbed silently beneath Tony’s hold. “Kid, listen to me. You are _not_ a murderer”, he said, but Peter simply shook his head stubbornly and sober harder, as if the words had only increased his pain. “You are _not_ ”, Tony reinforced, squeezing Peter’s shoulder again. Peter needed to understand that. Tony needed Peter to understand that. “Everything you did was self-defense. Gargan tortured and beat you up. He _threatened your aunt_ , Peter”, he reminded the boy. “But what weights the most is that you weren’t _trying_ to kill him”, he added emphatically. “You didn’t drop the shelf on him meaning to get him killed. You were just trying to stop him from killing _you_. There was no way you could have known he would die”.

Peter raised his head to stare at Tony with wide, miserable eyes that were so obviously looking for confirmation, so obviously looking for something in Tony’s face that told him that he wasn’t _actually_ a murderer, that the billionaire couldn’t help but to pull the boy into a tight hug, desperate to mend Peter’s broken pieces back together. The hug was desperate and emotional, more so than any of the rare few ones they had shared before, and after a few hesitant seconds of trying to understand if that was really happening, Peter sobbed harder – and very loudly, this time –, before enveloping Mr. Stark with his arms and clinging tightly to him as he shook and cried beneath his grasp.

“I’m so sorry, Pete”, Tony said, enveloping Peter with one of his arms and pressing the boy’s head against his chest with his free hand as he continued to let out loud, broken sobs. Those three words were also unfamiliar to Tony – not because he never apologized, but because he never explicitly said ‘I am sorry’ –, but he paid that no mind. He needed Peter to know how bad he felt for making him suffer so much. “I’m so sorry I made you think that. I know you aren’t a murderer. You could never be”.

“Mr. Stark”, Peter sobbed brokenly against his chest, voice muffled.

“And I’m sorry I pushed you away. I should have never done that, especially when you clearly needed me, with everything you went through. That was a stupid move”, he added, leaning his chin on the top of Peter’s head. The boy continued to cry.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark”, Peter sobbed, clinging harder to the billionaire. Tony frowned, fighting the tears that were beginning to pool in his own eyes.

“What for?”, he asked, dreadful. Peter sniffed, and sobbed, and coughed before responding.

“Everything”, he said miserably, face still buried in Tony’s chest and voice muffled by his shirt. “I stayed late in the lab like you always tell me not to do. I was tired and I wasn’t paying attention and maybe if I hadn’t been so distracted I would have been able to fight them off”, he explained. Tony closed his eyes and ran his fingers through Peter’s hair, not having the heart to feel embarrassed by the intimacy and vulnerability of that moment.

“None of what happened was your fault, kid”, Tony reassured him, caressing Peter’s hair in that way he knew the kid loved.

“But –“, Peter tried to argue, but before he could get any further, Tony cut him off.

“No buts. I’m telling you, none of this was your fault”, he repeated, sounding firm and final. “I know I’ve been an asshole to you for the past weeks, and I’m definitely going to make up for that, but when have I ever lied to you?”, he raised an eyebrow, even if Peter couldn’t see it.

It took a while for Peter’s sobs to completely die down, but once they did, he hesitantly pulled away from their hug. Tony let him go without resistance, but allowed one of his hands to linger on the boy’s shoulder, as if to reassure him that he was there for him now. Peter’s face was still flushed and damp from tears, the wrinkle marks of Tony’s shirt etched on the skin of his face. Tony didn’t remember any occasion when he had seen Peter look so… childish. Not in the sense that he was immature, but in the sense that he needed _fathering_.

“So you d-don’t think I’m a murderer?”, he asked hesitantly, his eyes so uncertain that Tony had to suppress the urge to pull him into another hug. Funny how, a year before, Tony would have gone out of his way just so that he wouldn’t have to hug Peter, and now here he was, longing for the close contact with his kid. He shook his head and squeezed Peter’s shoulder again.

“No”, he said emphatically, giving Peter a serious look that left no place for jokes. “I _know_ you’re not. You’re too good”, he added. Peter’s face scrunched up as if he was about to start crying again, but he did his best to control himself. “I’m sorry I made you believe that. I’m sorry I never denied that. This whole mess could have been avoided if I had just talked to you right away, so I’m really sorry, Pete”, he sniffed, shaking his head in self-reproach. “I promise I will never let anything like this happen again”.

Peter sniffed and his lower lip wobbled as he fought tears, but he nodded his head in acknowledgment of Tony’s words. Tony squeezed his shoulder again.

“Do you believe me?”, he asked, raising an eyebrow at Peter. Without hesitation, the boy nodded emphatically, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. He looked like he was trying to look strong, as if he didn’t want Tony to think he was a crybaby.

“Y-You never lied to me before”, Peter said simply, a callback to Tony’s previous question. “So I believe you. I just…”, he hesitated, looking away from Tony’s eyes with a slightly embarrassed expression. “I need some time”, he admitted, sounding a bit grimmer than he had a moment before. “I need some time to believe that myself”, he concluded with certainty. Tony’s chest felt tight with guilt, but he nodded at Peter.

“And I’ll help you believe that”, he reassured him. “You’re the best kid I could have, after all”, he added, feeling hesitant until Peter looked up at him with a bright, small smile that contrasted so much with the miserable looks he had been bearing for so long that Tony felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Peter’s eyes sparkled.

“I’m – I’m –“, Peter tried to say, unable to find the words he wanted. Tony rolled his eyes, but affectionately pulled the boy closer, ruffling his hair playfully.

“Don’t ruin the moment, kid. Just take it”, he advised, earning a nervous chuckle from Peter. Letting him go and sparing him a look, Tony realized how flushed Peter’s face still looked, even if his skin wasn’t so hot anymore. Clicking his tongue and sighing, Tony grabbed his phone from where it had fallen to the floor at some point during their emotional conversation, and finally dialed Happy’s number. After two rings, the driver picked up.

“What’s taking you so long? Did you find him?”, Happy said with urgency, instead of offering a greeting. Tony sighed.

“Yeah, I found him. I was talking things out with him”, he gave Peter a pointed look and a wink, whereas the boy stared at him with nervous curiosity. “I do think he’s got heatstroke, though”, he added casually, as if it was no big deal.

“ _What_?”, Happy asked, worry and disbelief evident in his tone.

“So maybe if you can come up here and help me get him down these stairs, that would be great”, Tony added as an afterthought.

“Tony, what –“, Happy was saying, but before he could continue, Tony hung up and placed the phone back into his pocket. Peter, on the other hand, was leaning his weight on the wall behind him and trying to get on his feet, even if the fake cast around his left leg was making things more difficult for him. Tony rolled his eyes and got to his own feet before reaching a hand to help Peter up. The boy eyed him with a weird look.

“Mr. Stark, I don’t need help”, he announced, a bit too proud. “I can do it on my own”, he added, as if to reassure Tony. Then he lost balance and would have fallen on his butt, had Tony not managed to grab him in time and pull him to his feet. Peter swayed and blinked heavily for a few seconds, looking disoriented and leaning his weight on Tony before he regained his footing.

“Oh, you were saying?”, he asked sarcastically, giving Peter a disbelieving look. Peter blushed but didn’t try to move away from Tony’s hand supporting his elbow. He took a hesitant step towards the exit of the building, Tony close on his trails and ready to catch him should he fall again.

“Ok, maybe I did stay in the sun for too long”, Peter admitted, sounding slightly embarrassed. “But you didn’t need to call Happy for help. I can go down the stairs”, he said, a bit too defensively.

“What was this sunbathe all about anyway, kid?”, Tony asked, slightly worried. He had a feeling he already knew the answer to the question, but he needed to know for sure. Peter hesitated, shoulders tensing up, but before Tony could tell him that he didn’t need to talk about it if he wasn’t ready, he spilled the beans.

“Some kids threw ice water on me during gym class”, he explained, not looking at Tony as they walked slowly towards the door, Tony’s hands supporting one of Peter’s arms. “It… brought some bad memories. About the freezer and all that”, he said vaguely.

Tony hummed, taking everything Peter was saying into consideration. If his fear of PTSD came true, then Peter would need help beyond what Tony could offer, but he would make sure he would be there for the kid every step of the way. The superhero life wasn’t an easy one, but Peter had signed up for it before Tony even knew him personally. The least he could do was help the kid go through the problems that came along with saving lives. That was a good start at making up to Peter for all his wrong choices.

“Did you feel like you were back at the freezer?”, Tony asked, looking for confirmation. Peter swallowed dry and hesitated for a moment before nodding his head.

“Yeah. Yeah, I – I did”, he admitted, uncomfortable.

“Hm”, Tony said simply, not wanting to push the subject further. He couldn’t be completely sure if it was PTSD, since he was no psychologist, but he _would_ make sure Peter got appropriate help if that was the case. Right on that moment, he needed to focus on the things he could actually do to help Peter. “And who threw the ice on you?”, he raised an eyebrow, watching Peter’s face closely. The boy blushed.

“I… I don’t…”, he hesitated, not wanting to lie but not wanting to snitch, either. Peter probably knew Mr. Stark wouldn’t let the incident go unpunished, since it had resulted on so many bad memories for Peter. Instead of waiting for a direct reply, Tony stepped in:

“It was that Flash kid, wasn’t it?”, he asked accusingly. Peter very pointedly refused to meet his eyes, and that was all Tony needed as confirmation. “Alright. I’ll do something about it”, he announced.

“I’m not…”, Peter hesitated, looking conflicted. “… _sure_ it was him. I think it was his friends”, he concluded, but before Tony could reply, he turned towards him with urgency. “But really, Mr. Stark, you don’t have to do anything about it, I can totally take care of this, you don’t need to do anything!”, he pleaded nervously, stumbling over his words. Tony raised his eyebrows at him with a judging look.

“Kid, this isn’t the first time Flash and his gang of punks bullies you”, he pointed out nonchalantly. “And this time, they all went too far, whether Flash was directly involved or not. You have a cast on your leg, for god’s sake. It’s past the time these kids give it a break”, he said, opening the door of the roof so that Peter could go through it before following him closely. Before the kid could attempt to climb down the stairs on his own, in the dizzy state he was in, Tony rushed to his side and grabbed a hold of one of his arms.

“I know, but I mean it, Mr. Stark”, Peter sighed in frustration. “Please, don’t do anything. It will only make it worse”, he added in a small voice that was almost a mutter. Tony scoffed.

“Don’t break a sweat over this, Underoos”, the use of the missed affectionate nickname made warmness spread through Peter’s chest. “I’m not going to make a scene or anything. They won’t even know it has to do with you”, he promised. Peter frowned and tilted his head to look at him.

“Oh, no”, Peter said with resigned dread, frowning. “You already have a plan?”

Tony couldn’t help but to smirk at the question, a sort of wickedness appearing on his lips as he gave Peter a mischievous wink and continued to aid him down the stairs.

“Wait and see, Pete”, he responded simply, at the same time Happy appeared panting at the bottom of the stairs. “Wait and see”.

“Ok, what the _hell_ happened?”, Happy exclaimed angrily before rushing towards them and grabbing Peter’s free arm to offer him support. The boy felt slightly uncomfortable from all the sudden touching after spending so long without it, but he couldn’t exactly complain. To know that Mr. Stark didn’t hate him – to know that Mr. Stark _loved_ him – to know that Mr. Stark didn’t think he was a murderer – all those things had an incredible positive effect on his mood.

He was still feeling a bit dizzy because of the sun, though, and the injury on his lower torso was beginning to throb more and more with each step he took, but he hadn’t felt this happy in a long time. Making up with Mr. Stark felt like lifting a heavy weight from his chest, and even though he knew that he wasn’t entirely ok, that it would take him a _long_ time to be ok again and leave everything bad that had happened behind him; at least now he could have something to look forward to. The hope that had died down into nothing but embers inside his chest had been revived, and it was slowly beginning to burn bright again.

 

 

 

 

 

“Mr. Stark, I swear I can explain if you just listen –“

“Oh, I’m listening all right. Go ahead and tell me _all about_ how you were literally _impaled_ and didn’t tell anyone about it!”, Tony said bitterly, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

“Ok, first, I wasn’t impaled, I was _stabbed_ , there’s a difference, and I didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t want to worry you!”, Peter explained in a pleading tone that was a bit too defensive. Behind them, Cho raised her eyebrows and looked like she wanted to be anywhere but at the medbay with them.

“Guess what, spider-kid, your plan didn’t work because I’m worried as _shit_ right now, since you were _impaled and didn’t tell anyone_!”, he accused, angry. “Don’t repeat that, by the way”, he pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes with impatience.

Peter had tried his best to hide the injury on his side when he arrived at Doctor Cho’s medical bay. After a quick examination, she confirmed Tony’s suspicion of heatstroke, even though it was very mild and easily fixable. However, treatment would require Peter to be cooled down, which on its own would require him to get out of his thick sweater. One thing led to the other and, before he could do anything about it, Cho was sucking in a deep breath and rushing to grab her medical equipment while Tony stared at the bloodied bandage covering Peter’s barely dressed wound with wide eyes and a pale face.

Explaining what had happened to him while Cho sewed him up was even worse than having them find out about the wound in such an unexpected way. Tony’s face only paled further and further while Peter told him about the assaulter who stabbed him with a machete, and how he had made his way home all by himself and dressed the injury the best he could without drawing anyone’s attention. Cho decided to step out of the conversation once she was done suturing the injury, but lingered by so that she could initiate the treatment for the heatstroke as soon as they were done talking.

“You do realize there were hundreds of things that could have gone wrong because you didn’t tell anyone, right?”, Tony tilted his head to the side with indignation. “You could have bled out –“

“I heal fast”, Peter interrupted defensively.

“ – you could have contracted an infection –“

“My metabolism is super strong! _And_ fast!”

“ – it could have punctured an organ –“

“ _I heal fast_!”, he repeated empathically.

“God _damn_ it, Peter, you could have died!”, Tony snapped, sounding angry and frustrated. Peter flinched at the way his voice sounded so loud, but didn’t dare to move on the stretcher as Tony lowered his head and tried his best to control his breathing, pursing his lips. When he met Peter’s eyes again, guilt and self-loathing were evident on his face. “I understand why you didn’t come to me”, he said miserably, looking older than Peter had ever seen him. “But I don’t get why you didn’t talk to Cho, or Happy, or Rhodes, damn it, even your nerd friend you’re always talking about”, he shook his head. “Why didn’t you _look for help_ , Peter?”, he frowned, squinting his eyes at the boy. Peter looked away, unable to meet Tony’s eyes, something akin to shame flashing across his face for a moment.

Then something clicked, and Tony’s face fell in realization. His heart dropped to his stomach and his hands felt numb as he took a closer step to the stretcher.

“Did you think you _deserved_ it?”, Tony asked Peter in a quiet voice, remembering how the boy had accused himself of being a murderer for what had happened to Gargan. Now that Tony thought about it, it made total sense – it was just like Peter to blame himself for someone’s death to the point of thinking he deserved to suffer for it. The way the boy failed to respond and seemed to tilt his head further away told Tony everything he needed to know.

Sighing heavily and running a hand across his tired face, Tony took a step away from the stretcher and gestured for Cho to approach, looking at a loss for what to do. Sparing Tony a concerned look, Cho approached Peter and explained to him that she would have to insert an IV, since he was verging on dehydration. After she was done, she displayed several damp cloths across Peter’s pulse points, meaning to cool his temperature down. Since his status wasn’t critical, they wouldn’t have to take extreme measures for the time being. All the while Cho looked after him, Peter didn’t say a word, staring blankly at the wall beside the stretcher instead.

Once Cho was done, she excused herself, very aware that Tony and Peter would want some space to talk. Once the door clicked behind the woman, Tony stepped closer to the stretcher again, looking at Peter, who was still very promptly refusing to look at him at all. An eternity passed before any of them spoke.

“I’m sorry”, it was Peter who broke the silence. His voice was apologetic, but there was also a sort of certainty behind it that reminded Tony of himself, much to his dismay. “I know I should have told someone”.

“I’m glad you know that; otherwise I’d have to get your head checked up as well”, Tony couldn’t help but to scoff sarcastically, still angry and concerned that the kid had done something so reckless. Peter merely sighed, and Tony mimicked him. “Look, kid. I’m just worried about you, ok? I nearly lost you back there, and to think that… that I could have lost you for real now, without even _knowing_ about it until it was too late, it scares me”, he admitted, feeling vulnerable. Peter turned his head slightly so that he could catch a glimpse of Tony’s face as he spoke. “I mean, I get why you didn’t tell anyone”, Tony shrugged, resigned.

“You do?”, Peter asked, uncertain.

“Sure. I do the same thing”, he admitted with a self-depreciative scoff. Peter’s eyes widened slightly at that revelation. “Which is probably why I’m so worried. I don’t want you to be like me”, he added, because they were already in deep at the whole ‘let’s-talk-about-our-true-feelings’ thing and he might as well put all the cards on the table while he had the chance. Peter frown deeply and stared at Tony with deep confusion.

“Why not, Mr. Stark?”, he asked, sounding completely baffled. “You’re amazing”.

“I know”, Tony agreed without missing a beat. “But I want you to be _better_ ”.

Peter’s face assumed a different expression, making him look almost pensive. He continued to stare at Mr. Stark, now more similar to a child listening to his father’s scolding than to a parentless boy listening to his mentor.

“I know I’ve already told you this, kid”, Tony continued, serious. “But I _do_ want you to be better. And I know you can be”, he shrugged, stepping even closer to the stretcher. “I picked you, after all, and we both know I’m never wrong”, he added with a smirk. Peter smiled back. “But when I see you follow my steps, I fear that you may end up becoming too much like me”, Tony admitted, going back to his serious tone. “And I don’t want that to happen to you. I want you to follow your _own_ steps”, he pointed at Peter, “and build up your own path. You have potential to be greater than me, someday, and trust me, I don’t say that to _anyone_ ”, he raised an eyebrow.

Peter’s eyes were glistening again, but the look on his face was one of such deep admiration that Tony couldn’t help but to feel emotional himself. Before he could do something as stupid as crying in front of the kid, even though that whole afternoon had been extremely tear-filled, he continued:

“So yes, I understand why you didn’t tell anyone you were hurt and all that, but I need you to promise me that this won’t happen again, Peter”, he said seriously. “I _want_ you to promise that you’ll look for help when you need it, because I can’t spend all of my days wondering if my spider-kid is bleeding out on an alley somewhere because he was too afraid he’d be a nuisance if he reached out for help”, he crossed his arms above his chest. “I know this situation with the machete guy was a different case and I’m going to get to that in a moment, but for now, I want you to promise me this”.

Peter pondered for a moment before offering a response. Everything was happening so suddenly after over a week of no contact with Mr. Stark at all, that it was getting a bit hard for him to catch up with everything he was feeling and thinking. Maybe the heatstroke had something to do with that confusion, but he was certain it wasn’t the only factor inferring with his dizziness. Because barely a day ago, Peter was absolutely convinced that Mr. Stark hated him because he had killed Gargan, and now Mr. Stark was staying by his side on the Stark medical bay, right after telling him all about how he loved him and saw him as a son. Of course, that was something that lifted and incredibly heavy weight from Peter’s shoulders – but it also sent his brain spiraling into a confused whirlpool of paradoxical emotions that he wasn’t really succeeding on figuring out.

Ok, so was he or was he not a murderer? Mr. Stark swore he wasn’t, and he had never lied to Peter before. He claimed the only reason he had stayed away from Peter for so long was because he was afraid his presence would endanger him, which was an excuse that made sense, if he tried to think about it logically. Still, the downright disgust Peter felt whenever he remembered the moment when he dropped the shelf on Gargan wasn’t something that would just disappear because Mr. Stark was on good terms with him again. He was sure the nightmares would take a while to go away, too, as well as the insomniac nights. He wasn’t sure what he could do to make them better, because he genuinely believed Mr. Stark when he said he didn’t blame him for what had happened, but maybe his brain, needy for affirmation and comfort, was _inducing_ him to believe Mr. Stark’s word, since it was more convenient for him. It was easier to just believe Mr. Stark and let this whole Gargan story go than to actually admit he was a murderer. And Peter didn’t want that. He didn’t want the easy way. He didn’t _deserve_ the easy way.

But after the emotional moment he had shared with Mr. Stark on the roof, after everything they talked about and all the confessions that Peter had never thought he would hear in his life, there was no way he could just look Mr. Stark in the eyes, after being ignored by the man for over a week, and say: “hey man, thanks for all your kind words and all but I can’t really promise I will immediately call you as soon as I get stabbed again, because I hate asking for help and I don’t want to look weak in front of you even though you’ve already seen me in my lowest point several times over now”.

So Peter simply nodded his head briefly at Mr. Stark, pursing his lips and looking as serious as he could.

“I promise”, he said simply, eyes gloomy with guilt. “I won’t hide anything like that again”.

“Good. I’ll let you know Friday’s got that recorded in video and, if you _do_ hide a serious injury like that again, I’ll be legally able to sue you”, Tony pointed out, making Peter’s eyes widen a little. The boy gave the billionaire a nervous laughter that Tony ignored, looking very serious as a way to legitimize his words. Peter’s laughter died down into an awkward, half-fearful smile. “Now, kid”, Tony moved on, leaning his leg on the edge of Peter’s stretcher and crossing his arms above his chest. “About Dr. Kaplan”.

Peter could feel the blood drain away from his face and lowered his eyes, refusing to even look at Tony’s general direction. He didn’t know how much Tony knew about the one session Peter had attended, but he had probably been informed about the reluctance he had displayed to meet the woman on a weekly basis.

“W-What about her?”, Peter asked, trying his best to sound untroubled by the subject, as if they were talking about something as trivial as the weather. Tony sighed, clearly unwilling to play pretend with him.

“A little chubby bird who used to be a boxer told me that you’re not a fan of attending the sessions”, Tony raised an eyebrow at Peter. “Why is that?”

Peter continued to face down, unwilling to lock eyes with Tony. The billionaire had to give in – he knew this was probably too much for the kid. He had ignored Peter for over a week after the boy got kidnapped, threatened and tortured. He accidentally made Peter believe that he hated him for being a murderer. The kid had gone through a flashback so intense that he nearly boiled his own brains as a way to comfort himself. Peter was clearly not ok and in need of help, and Tony knew he was to blame for most of that. He also knew that trying to make up for a week of negligence in one hour would be tiring, to Peter as well as to himself.

“Fine, you don’t have to answer that”, he told Peter, and the way the boy’s shoulders seemed to relax in deep relief made something weird tighten inside Tony’s chest. He sighed heavily, unable to keep from hating himself a little bit for being so stubborn and stupid.

He should have just listened to Happy and Rhodes sooner and gone after Peter before the boy could become so miserable. Before his panicking brain could talk him out of it, Tony reached for Peter’s hand and grabbed it, squeezing it. Looking surprised by the unusual – and quite frankly, rare – contact, Peter tilted his head towards Tony, brown eyes wide and curious.

“Look, I’ll just get the sappy shit over with so that I can leave you alone to take your power nap, ok?”, he raised an eyebrow at Peter and sighed. “You don’t have to say anything for now if you don’t want to – this will actually work better as a monologue, anyway. What I mean is – I know I hurt you, you know I’m sorry, we got over that already”, he said with that sarcastic Tony-like objectiveness that always seemed to be present in his speech, even when he was being extremely serious. “But I also know that sorry doesn’t cut it”, he added with a tiny, humorless chuckle, remembering that one time when he told Peter that, a lifetime ago, under completely different circumstances, right before he took the kid’s suit away. Meeting Peter’s eyes and seeing the emotion in them, Tony figured the boy was remembering the same thing. “I know you’ll need time to get it into your nerd brain that no one blames you, that you’re not to blame. I _know_ the way I’ve been acting only contributed to make you feel like crap. And I know that what you went through – it wasn’t easy”, he added, unable to keep his face from falling into a grim expression as unwanted memories of Afghanistan popped into his mind. “I know all that. But listen to the voice of experience, kid – therapy will be good for you”.

Peter worried at his lower lip and dropped his head again, looking uncomfortable. Tony didn’t want to push the kid, but he also knew that there would be no more appropriate time to talk about that subject with him. He removed his hand from the top of the boy’s and placed it on Peter’s shoulder instead, increasing the proximity between them.

“I’m the last person who has the right to tell you that, but I’m the best one to give you a cautionary tale”, he said with sincerity, glad that Cho had stepped out of the room to give them privacy. A week before, Tony wouldn’t even have dared to keep his hand on Peter’s shoulder for longer than necessary, no matter how much he liked the kid. Now, the contact felt comforting and natural, as if the invisible, unspoken bridge between them had been broken by their conversation back at the roof. Still, Peter wasn’t meeting his eyes, probably fearing that Tony would want to convince him to go to Dr. Kaplan’s appointments, which was why he squeezed the boy’s shoulder and said: “Hey, Pete. Look at me”.

Peter let out a shaky breath and raised his head to meet Mr. Stark’s eyes, hesitation so clear in them that it made Tony hesitant himself. Tony knew exactly how Peter must be feeling. Cornered. Helpless. Vulnerable. He remembered feeling like that, too, when he came back from Afghanistan. He remembered wishing someone could just find the right words to tell him, the words he wanted to hear, instead of accusations or questions or demands.

No one ever did find the right words.

He wouldn’t fail Peter in the same way. If there was no set of right words he could use to help Peter, then he would invent them. He was pretty good at that, at least.

“I never got any therapy after everything that happened to me”, he admitted, eyes fixed on Peter’s attentive ones. “I tried once, it didn’t work out, so I gave up. And not getting help when I obviously needed it – that’s the kind of thing that resulted on me bailing on you when you needed me the most. Because as much as I try to be a better person, a better man, I know that I’m still a selfish asshole who puts my needs in front of other people’s”.

“Mr. Stark, that’s not true”, Peter interrupted with a half-confused, half-offended frown.

“Yeah, kid, I try to tell myself that, too, but look at what I did to you”, Tony scoffed in self-deprecation, pointing at Peter’s half-propped form on the stretcher. “I convinced myself that you’d be better off without me and it took me nearly losing you again to admit I was wrong”.

“But you’re not selfish”, Peter interrupted him again, the urgency in his voice indicating that he was desperate for Tony to believe him. “Or an asshole”.

“You kiss your aunt with that mouth?”, Tony raised his eyebrows at Peter, even if he did end up looking half-offended. “But what I’m trying to say, kid, is that therapy will be good for you. Trust me when I say that I _know_ it sucks; telling a random stranger all about my deepest thoughts and fears and exposing myself like that is probably my worst nightmare”, he admitted with a pointed shake of his head, “but it helps you get some weight off your chest. It helps you clear your consciousness. And stop – I know what you’re thinking”, he pointed an accusing finger at Peter before the boy could even say anything. “You _do_ deserve to clear your consciousness, Pete. I don’t expect you to instantly believe my words and forget all about what happened in this moment, but you’re _not_ a murderer. No matter how hard your stubborn brain tries to convince you of that”.

Peter stared at Mr. Stark for a long time, at a loss for what to say. He was glad the man acknowledged that Peter wouldn’t magically get better overnight, but the words he was saying resonated deeply within him. He still didn’t believe that he deserved absolution, but the way Mr. Stark seemed to see him as completely innocent of guilt, even though he knew what had happened in details and had seen the whole mess first hand, made Peter believe, just a bit, that maybe the _feeling_ of absolution wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

Mr. Stark tapped his shoulder a couple of times before standing up again, placing one of his hands on his hips and using the other to rub his nose and his hair slightly. He fished out one of his many sunglasses from inside his jacket and put it on, looking stylish even though Peter could tell he hadn’t slept properly in days.

“Anyway, I’ll give you some time to think about that and recover from your”, he gestured at the IV taped to Peter’s hand – “ _predicament_ ”, he concluded, unnecessarily pompous. He pushed the glasses up the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat. “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to your school, your aunt, and your Ned and sort things out for you. But don’t get too used to it”, he pointed a warning finger at Peter as he fished his phone out of his pocket. “Wouldn’t want you to get spoiled”.

Peter actually chuckled at this, smiling sincerely for the first time in what felt like years. Tony seemed to relish at the sound, but did little other than offer Peter a pleased smirk and tilt his head to the side.

“You get some rest and try not to get yourself impaled again while I’m away, ok?”, he raised an eyebrow at the boy, extremely aware of Peter’s tendency to attract trouble.

“I wasn’t impaled, Mr. Stark”, Peter tried to argue, even though he was still smiling nervously. “I already told you that –“

“Yeah, yeah, potato, potato”, Tony cut him off, already dialing Midtown Tech’s number on his phone – why he knew the number by heart didn’t really matter, nor would he ever admit it. “You know what button to press if you need anyone?”, he asked Peter as he slowly headed to the door.

“Yes, I’ve got it”, Peter nodded simply. It was kind of sad, but he had been to Stark’s medbay so many times by now that he could get around the place with his eyes closed. Not that he would ever do that – Mr. Stark would probably strangle him if he found Peter walking around blindly in the state he was.

“Good. I’ll be back in a while to see how you’re doing”, he told Peter, grabbing the handle and pulling the door of the room slightly open. He turned the lights off and watched as Peter nested on the stretcher, the damp cloths meant to cool him down still settled carefully into place. He sighed, closing his eyes, and Tony allowed a small smile of affection to blossom on his lips for a moment before adding: “Oh, and, just so you know, spiderling – we’re back on texting terms”, he grabbed Peter’s phone from where the boy had left it at the tiny desk on the opposite side of the room and tossed it to the kid. Peter grabbed it midair with fast reflexes, which was a good sign of his improvement. Before he could turn around to look at Tony or even say anything in response, the door clicked silently behind the billionaire and he was gone, leaving Peter alone in the medical room.

Before he could even try to organize his thoughts and make sense of everything that was happening, Peter’s phone pinged with a new text. His heart sped up as he realized it was from Mr. Stark – he had thought he would never receive a text from the man again –, and he couldn’t help but to allow a wide smile to blossom on his lips as he read the words displayed on his bright phone screen.

**From: Tony Stark**

I know I said we’re back on texting terms but

**From: Tony Stark**

If you text me while you’re in bedrest, I’m grounding you

Peter smiled, feeling like a weight had been lifted from him so abruptly that tears emerged in his eyes and he let out a shaky, emotional breath.

**From: Peter Parker**

:-(

Mr. Stark’s reply came faster than it usually did, as if he had been waiting to go back to texting Peter for a long time, now. Peter couldn’t say he didn’t share the sentiment.

**From: Tony Stark**

Pete I missed you like hell but I certainly didn’t miss those hideous things you put on your smiley faces

**From: Peter Parker**

D^:

**From: Tony Stark**

God damn it kid

**From: Tony Stark**

Just go to sleep

**From: Tony Stark**

We can talk more later

Peter stared at his phone screen for a few moments, simply relishing on the knowledge that this was really happening. Mr. Stark was really texting him, and complaining about the noses he put on his smiley faces. If Peter tried really hard, he could almost pretend that nothing had happened, that they were just on the same stage of  their weird almost father-son relationship as they had been a week before, that everything was back to normal. But deep down, he knew that wasn’t true.

It wasn’t true because of what Gargan had done, and what Gargan had turned him into. It wasn’t true because there was something new about his relationship with Tony now, something clearer and bigger and better. Tony had told him he saw Peter as a son. He _loved_ Peter as a son. Peter didn’t even know that was what he craved the most until he actually heard the words aloud. His relationship with Tony had been developing slowly for the past months, but this felt like the utmost jump they could have reached. Not that Peter was complaining. He definitely wasn’t complaining.

An ugly voice deep down inside him told him that he should be hurt or angry with Mr. Stark for abandoning him like that and allowing him to believe he was a murderer, but he knew better than listening to that intrusive thought. Even if he had tried, he wouldn’t have been able to be angry at Mr. Stark – he knew the man had his own issues, his own demons, his own insecurities, even if he was infinitely better at hiding them than Peter would ever be. Despite of his genius, playboy, billionaire, philanthropist façade, Peter knew, now better than before, that there was much more behind Mr. Stark than what met the eye.

Even though the man deemed himself selfish and arrogant, and even though the rest of the world seemed to agree with that notion, Peter knew better. Peter knew that Mr. Stark was a good man, an intelligent man, a selfless man, even if he didn’t always show that so clearly. And yes, maybe it had been wrong of Mr. Stark to bail on him right after everything that happened with Gargan, but Peter could understand where he had been coming from. He understood very well the feeling of guilt for attracting danger into people’s lives. He understood very well the deep, paralyzing fear of losing the people you love just because they were close to you. He understood very well the urge to get away, to isolate, to escape, to disappear, before someone could murder Aunt May or Tony or Ned just because of him. So yeah. He was the last person who could judge Mr. Stark from bailing.

The fact that he was feeling a little bit better about himself indicated that, even if the past week had totally _sucked_ , at least some good seemed to have gotten out of it. At least, his relationship with Mr. Stark seemed to be escalating into something that Peter hadn’t even realized he craved for until he heard Mr. Stark tell him he loved him. And, at least, the deep weight that kept pressing down on his chest and smothered him for the past week didn’t feel all that heavy anymore.

He was starting to doze off, phone still in hands, when Mr. Stark sent him another text.

**From: Tony Stark**

But really, kid, I meant everything I said

**From: Tony Stark**

From now on I’ll assume you think like I do and just say stuff that may be obvious to me but not so obvious to you

**From: Tony Stark**

Sorry again for being such an asshole

Peter could see Tony was still typing, but quickly replied:

**From: Peter Parker**

I understand, Mr. Stark, I really do

**From: Tony Stark**

Don’t interrupt the elders

**From: Tony Stark**

As for those three words, I just want you to know I have a hard time saying them

**From: Tony Stark**

I’ve always had

**From: Tony Stark**

So, don’t think that just because I don’t say them all the time, I don’t feel them

**From: Tony Stark**

I just find my way around showing them in other ways

**From: Tony Stark**

Ruffling your hair, calling you Underoos, teasing you for being basically a muscular baby, all that stuff

Peter was desperate to break the tension, and feeling the slightest bit more like himself was enough to make him tend towards the humorous side of him he always recurred to whenever he was fighting villains or dealing with personal crisis.

**From: Peter Parker**

Maybe ‘Underoos’ will be our always

There was a pause in which Tony stopped typing. It couldn’t have taken him seconds to get back to it, but the moments in which the three dots disappeared felt like an eternity as Peter silently wondered if he had crossed a line.

**From: Tony Stark**

Grounded

**From: Peter Parker**

Nooo :-(

**From: Peter Parker**

Muscular baby will be our always? :-/

**From: Tony Stark**

I don’t know why I even bother

**From: Tony Stark**

Go to sleep and talk to me when your brains have returned to their natural un-melted consistence

**From: Peter Parker**

Sorry, Mr. Stark

**From: Peter Parker**

But really, it’s ok if you don’t say it

**From: Peter Parker**

You don’t really have to

The three dots kept appearing and disappearing for a while, as if Tony was hesitating and erasing his text over and over again.

**From: Tony Stark**

You’re too good of a kid

Peter’s hands began to shake as he typed out a response.

**From: Peter Parker**

But I mean it

Tony’s response was almost immediate.

**From: Tony Stark**

I know you do. Which is why you’re too good of a kid

**From: Tony Stark**

Anyway. I was serious about you getting some rest

**From: Tony Stark**

I’ve already handled the school and May, so you can catch some z’s

**From: Tony Stark**

The hardest part is coming now

**From: Tony Stark**

Talking to Leeds

Now that Peter thought about it, he could see in his notification bar that Ned had flooded his phone with worried texts asking about him. Guilt sparked in his heart and he decided that even though Mr. Stark would explain the situation to his friend, it would be best if Peter at least reassured him that he was all right. He knew that there would come a time in which he would have to talk to Ned about what had happened, even if he didn’t go into too many details. For now, reassuring his friend that he was alive and well would have to do.

**From: Peter Parker**

Thank you, Mr. Stark

**From: Peter Parker**

For everything, really

**From: Tony Stark**

No need to thank me, kid

**From: Tony Stark**

You know why I do it

Peter smiled.

**From: Peter Parker**

Yeah

**From: Peter Parker**

I do

The next answer took a bit longer.

**From: Tony Stark**

Go to sleep, kiddo. I’ll be there when you wake up

Peter sent a quick text assuring Ned that he was going to be fine and would explain everything later, before he locked his phone screen and, for once in his life, did what he was told. He wouldn’t be lying if he admitted that, even though the stretcher was a bit too hard and uncomfortable, even for a Stark-equipped medbay, that was definitely the best sleep he had caught ever since he passed out from hypothermia inside a freezer.

 

 

 

 

 

Peter couldn’t say he wasn’t pleased when he got home and found his aunt wasn’t completely freaking out, thanks to Ned stopping the school from contacting her and Mr. Stark’s quick intervention. The only thing May knew about what had happened that afternoon was that Tony had finally come to terms with everything that happened and decided to talk to Peter for once, which wasn’t exactly a lie but also conceited several aspects of the truth that Peter didn’t want May to know about. Lying to his aunt always made him feel horrible, no matter how used to it he was by now, but having Mr. Stark back him up on omitting the truth made him feel a little less bad about the whole thing.

Mr. Stark made it painfully clear that Peter was not only allowed but also extremely encouraged to go back to his private one-on-one tutoring sessions at the workshop, but he also made clear that he wanted Peter fully recovered and back on his feet before he was allowed to. They both knew the cast on his leg was a fake, but May didn’t, and perhaps she wouldn’t be too happy with the idea of her nephew attending an internship while still ‘injured’, especially after everything that happened.

Most of the stuff they studied and experimented on at the workshop was Spider-Man-related, and even though Tony could have easily continued their lessons at Peter’s place, since May spent most of the day at work, he didn’t deem it safe to. He had already turned Peter into a target before by merely having him as an intern; he didn’t want to imagine what could happen to the kid if he spent time in his apartment. No, it was better to withhold the workshop activities for the time being, not only because for the sake of Peter’s physical recovery, but also because of his mental one.

Everything Mr. Stark had told him hit very closely to home, and Peter felt actually willing to give Doctor Kaplan one more try, now that he knew Mr. Stark actually cared about him and didn’t actually hate him for being a murderer. The idea of having therapy sessions and opening himself up to a stranger made him incredibly uncomfortable, but hearing Mr. Stark’s story about his own trauma-related issues, as well as May’s request, made him feel like it couldn’t hurt him to try. The fact was – having Mr. Stark talking to him again broke him out of the miserable, gloomy mood that had been numbing him to everything else in the world for the past week.

He still felt sudden spikes of adrenaline whenever someone sneaked on him, and he still wore his sweaters even though the weather was hot. He still itched at the place where the wire scars should be on his wrists, and he still made sure he always had food and water around him. He still flinched whenever someone made abrupt movements, he still lost his breath whenever someone asked what had happened to his leg, he still had nightmares that kept him from sleeping at night. Maybe a therapist wouldn’t go amiss, now that he actually put some thought on it and decided that, yeah, maybe Mr. Stark was right and he _didn’t_ deserve to go through all this by himself.

But the change in his behavior in comparison to the previous week was so noticeable even MJ commented on it one day, a week after he and Mr. Stark started talking to each other again. Ned was perceptively more cheerful now that Peter wasn’t so depressed, but none of them ever mentioned the incident that was officially divulgated as Peter being ran over. Ned and MJ knew there was more into the story, but after what happened in the gym, they knew better than to push it. Even Flash, who never lost a chance to torment Peter, started to tone the bullying down after that. It was confirmed that he hadn’t been the one to throw the ice, and the kid who did it – one of his ‘friends’ – received a suspension that only didn’t turn into a expulsion because of Mr. Stark’s soft heart whenever it came to Peter asking him ‘please, Mr. Stark’ with puppy eyes.

Peter didn’t want to have the kid expelled. Sure, he was terrible and bullied him even more often than Flash did, but there was no way he could have known Peter had been tortured and locked inside a freezer a week prior. He didn’t think his harmful prank would turn out being _that_ harmful, and there was no way he could have known. Expelling him for doing something that would have been harmless under any other circumstances didn’t make sense, and Peter promptly ignored Mr. Stark’s argument that this kid had bathed someone wearing a cast with ice water only to stare at him with big puppy eyes and a long, dragged-out ‘pleeeeeeeeeease’ that had the billionaire rolling his eyes and doing as Peter asked.

Of course, Peter’s much needed days of peace didn’t last too long. Two weeks after Mr. Stark started talking to him again, Flash’s gang appeared beside his table as he, Ned, and MJ grabbed lunch together, arms crossed and smirks splattered all over their faces. Peter spared them a glance and turned his attention back to his meal, as did Ned, but the boys didn’t falter. Flash was standing unusually at the back – usually, he preferred to be the first one to throw insults at Peter’s face –, but he was there all the same.

“So, Parker”, one of the boys told him, malice etched all over his tone. “Why didn’t you tell us we were going to meet your boss?”

“Yeah, Parker”, another boy echoed, smirking. “Why would you hide that from us?”

“I don’t know what you guys are talking about”, Peter admitted with honestly, shrugging and continuing to eat his meal unbothered. Even though they were vicious bullies, they knew better than to mess with Peter, now, after one of them actually got a suspension. They would have to leave him alone for as long as he wore his fake cast. At least, that was what they were supposed to do.

“Oh, you didn’t hear it yet?”, one of the boys said mockingly, at the same time another said:

“Your boss didn’t tell you about that? Guess you don’t really work with Stark, then, huh?”

“If he doesn’t work with Mr. Stark, how do you explain your friend Jake’s absence?”, MJ asked without missing a beat, staring up at the gang of bullies with a blank face and defiance in her eyes. The boy blushed and opened his mouth, searching for a clever reply but finding none. Giving him the coldest look she could muster, MJ returned to her lunch.

“That doesn’t matter, freak”, the boy finally managed to reply, a bit too late for the words to have their intended effect. If anything, he only looked more pathetic. Rolling his eyes and probably fed up with the way their mocking session was turning against them, Flash finally stood forwards and took the lead of the group, splaying his hands on the top of Peter’s table.

“What _matters_ ”, he said, looking more serious and less mocking than his friends. His attitude towards Peter had changed a bit after the gym incident, almost as if he felt guilty for it, but apparently that wasn’t enough to completely change his unpleasant habit to provoke him. “is that we’re having a field trip to Stark Industries tomorrow, and you didn’t tell us anything about it”, he explained. Peter actually choked on his drink. “What kind of friend are you, Parker?”, he added, pretending to be hurt. Peter was too busy trying to catch his breath and not drool soda all over his shirt, so it was Ned who responded.

“What are you talking about? What field trip?”, he frowned, staring at Flash.

“You guys really are out of this world, right?”, Flash raised a judging eyebrow at them, stepping away from the desk. “Parker works for Stark but doesn’t hear a word about it; they announce the trip all over the school for the whole morning and none of you notice it. I really don’t know how you became captain of the Decathlon team”, he scoffed at MJ.

“The fact that you don’t know something as simple and obvious as that is the exact reason why _you_ weren’t made captain”, MJ responded simply, taking a sip of her soda and refusing to break eye contact with Flash as she did so. Peter, who had barely managed to recover from the shock of hearing about the fieldtrip, choked again at MJ’s response. The look on her face was impassive. Flash blushed and looked away, taken aback and embarrassed.

“You know what, whatever”, he ended up mumbling, gesturing to his friends to walk away. “I just came here to warn you that you’d better watch your back, Parker”, he said as he slowly backed off, his gang trailing behind him. “Once Stark realizes where the real talent resides, you’re going to lose your job to _me_ ”, he smiled and tapped at his chest before turning on his wheels and walking away. In a few seconds, the boy and his friends were out of sight.

“Ok, but _seriously_ , dude”, Ned leaned towards Peter with an over-excited look on his face as soon as he saw the boys had gone away. “Why didn’t you tell us about the field trip? I need more than a day to prepare myself to meet Tony Stark! And visit Tony Stark’s company! And visit Tony Stark’s _lab_!”, he was trying to whisper, but the cheerfulness in his tone made him sound louder than he had intended.

Peter, however, didn’t quite manage to reply as he fished his phone out of his hoodie and started to text Tony. It was MJ who rolled her eyes and offered Ned a response, bless her.

“He obviously didn’t know about it”, she said calmly, taking a last bite of her food and finishing her lunch. “Which is really ironic, by the way”.

“Did _you_ know about it?”, Ned turned his head to look at her, a puzzled look on his face.

“Of course I did. I pay attention to the school news”, MJ raised an eyebrow at Ned, earning a disbelieving frown from the boy.

“You do?!”, he asked, surprised.

“Nah, I’m just messing with you”, she chuckled, slurping her soda. Ned sighed and shook his head, turning back to Peter.

**From: Peter Parker**

Uh, Mr Stark

**From: Peter Parker**

You there??

**From: Tony Stark**

Yeah kiddo what’s up

**From: Tony Stark**

Shouldn’t you be in class?

**From: Peter Parker**

Lunch break

**From: Peter Parker**

So uhh listen

**From: Peter Parker**

I just heard that we’re supposed to go on a field trip

**From: Peter Parker**

Tomorrow

**From: Tony Stark**

Ok?

**From: Tony Stark**

Why are you telling me this, do you need signed permission?

**From: Tony Stark**

Because as much as you are my kid, I’m not legally responsible for you so that’s a no can do

**From: Peter Parker**

Mr Stark

**From: Peter Parker**

The trip is to Stark Industries

**From: Peter Parker**

As in your company??

**From: Peter Parker**

The one with your name in it

**From: Tony Stark**

Oh, right

**From: Tony Stark**

Forgot to tell you about that

**From: Tony Stark**

I’m glad you brought this up. Anyway, kid, there’s gonna be a field trip to SI tomorrow

**From: Peter Parker**

YOU SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME THAT BEFORE

**From: Tony Stark**

That would have just taken all the fun out of it, wouldn’t it?

**From: Peter Parker**

No???? Because I would be prepared???????? Now no one believes I actually work for you because I didn’t know anything about it????

**From: Tony Stark**

Well, technically you don’t actually work for me, Pete

**From: Tony Stark**

Spider-Man does

**From: Tony Stark**

But no one can know about that, now, can they?

**From: Peter Parker**

Still trying to figure out why you didn’t tell me about it and we’re kind of missing the point here

**From: Tony Stark**

Don’t break a sweat, kid. I’ve got it all planned up.

**From: Peter Parker**

What??

**From: Peter Parker**

What’s planned up??

**From: Peter Parker**

Mr Stark????

**From: Tony Stark**

Just relax and go have your lunch. I’ll see you later, ok?

**From: Peter Parker**

Just tell me what’s going on

**From: Peter Parker**

Please

**From: Peter Parker**

Pleeeeeeaseeeeeeeee

**From: Peter Parker**

What have you got planned up

**From: Peter Parker**

What are you going to do

**From: Tony Stark**

:-)

**From: Peter Parker**

MR STARK PLEASE

**From: Peter Parker**

THAT’S NOT FAIR

**From: Tony Stark**

Let’s see how those noses fit you now, Underoos >:-D

**From: Peter Parker**

Ok that was just downright weird

**From: Tony Stark**

Yeah I know let’s pretend it never happened

**From: Tony Stark**

Gotta go now, kiddo. I’m supposed to memorize a speech for this tour I’m giving a bunch of highschoolers tomorrow. Toodles!

Peter set his phone down and covered his face with both hands, sighing heavily. Ned, who had just finished his lunch while Peter texted, exchanged one quick glance with MJ before leaning forwards again in curiosity.

“So?”, Ned asked, barely able to keep his eyes from widening slightly. “What did he say?”

“The fieldtrip is a thing”, Peter said simply, shaking his head and shoving his phone back into his pocket.

“Then why didn’t he tell you about it?!”, Ned asked, voice verging on high pitched. Peter could tell some people were staring at them, but forced himself not to care. Everyone knew he was connected to Mr. Stark. People staring at him should only be expectable, if the trip had been announced to the whole school.

“Why don’t you look _excited_?”, MJ asked more emphatically, raising her eyebrow at Peter. She was eyeing him with that mysterious, unreadable look of hers, as if she was able to strip his soul bear and decipher its deepest secrets with no more than a glance. Peter felt himself blush and he looked away from her.

“I just… wasn’t expecting it, I guess”, he shrugged, deciding to focus on Ned’s question instead. “I don’t know why he didn’t tell me. I think he’s planning some kind of surprise, I don’t know, he was acting weird”, he shrugged again, more defensively this time. He hunched his shoulders and shrunk onto himself, grabbing his fork but playing with the food instead of actually eating it.

“What do you mean, a surprise?”, Ned’s eyes widened even further. “For _you_? Man, that’s so cool!”

“Why would Tony Stark plan a surprise for Peter?”, MJ frowned, giving Ned a confused look. The boy blushed, looking away from her and sending Peter a pleading glance.

“Because… my leg’s broken, so I haven’t been able to attend the internship”, Peter offered, aware of how weak that excuse sounded.

“Aw, Peter!”, Ned exclaimed, but there was no mockery in his tone, only cheerfulness. “He misses you! This is the way he found to see you!”, he exclaimed, and yeah, that made a bit of sense. Sure, even though Peter couldn’t go to the workshop just yet, Mr. Stark still found ways to see him, whether through inviting Peter over during weekends so they could hang out, whether through inviting Peter over after patrols to check if the boy had obeyed the ‘no overexerting yourself’ rule. Still, Peter knew that, after all the emotional constipation they had gone through recently, just texting and seeing each other for a few hours every day wasn’t enough to make up for all the loneliness and neglecting. Which was probably why, as Ned had successfully guessed, Mr. Stark had planned this fieldtrip.

“Yeah, maybe”, Peter huffed uncomfortably, looking away from his pair of friends and shrinking even further into himself, desperate to hide away from all the attention. Whatever it was Mr. Stark was planning, Peter had a feeling he wouldn’t particularly like it. MJ continued to study him with curiosity, but eventually shrugged and finished her soda with a loud slurp, as if reaching the conclusion that whatever was troubling Peter so much about the fieldtrip wasn’t worth her attention.

“Anyway, did you guys do the Spanish homework or what?”, she changed the subject with such naturalness that Peter felt actually relieved and grateful. Ned looked like he wanted to keep talking about Mr. Stark and the trip, but replied to MJ’s question and, soon, they had carried the conversation without paying the sulking Peter any mind.

Not too much time later, the bell rang, they went to their classes, and Peter continued his normal routine: get home, do his homework as fast as he could, get rid of the fake cast, go patrolling, meet Mr. Stark so that he could see with his own eyes that Peter hadn’t been impaled, go back home, have dinner with May, go to sleep.

Except everything got out of hand after he met Mr. Stark, and the man continued to promptly refuse to tell Peter why the _hell_ he was having a fieldtrip at Stark Industries without telling Peter anything about it.

“C’mon, Mr. Stark!”, Peter exclaimed, following the man into the very fancy, well-equipped kitchen in his Spider-Man suit, minus the mask. “I just want to know why you didn’t tell me about it!”

“Because”, Mr. Stark said in that nonchalant tone of his, grabbing himself a mug of coffee even though it was 8 p.m. “You wouldn’t have been able to keep that runny mouth of yours from spilling everything to your friend Leeds, and Leeds would have told half the school before they could have officially announced it, thus spoiling the surprise I so carefully planned”, he took a sip of the coffee, the small of his back leaning on the kitchen counter as he raised his eyebrow at Peter.

“That’s not true!”, Peter protested, even though he knew that, yeah, maybe it was a _little_ bit true.

“You’re right, that’s not true”, Mr. Stark shrugged, unbothered. “I didn’t carefully plan it; I actually came up with it two days ago”, he gave Peter a shit-eating smirk, taking another sip of his coffee. Peter sighed and allowed his shoulders to slump, giving Mr. Stark an ‘are you serious’ look.

“Should you even be drinking coffee at this hour?”, Peter asked, trying to change the subject because he was aware that he had already lost the argument. Yeah, maybe Ned was good at keeping his Spider-Man secret from leaking, but he was incredibly bad at keeping any other sorts of secrets that didn’t have the potential to completely ruin Peter’s life.

“Well, kiddo, the pile of work I have waiting for me at the workshop isn’t going to solve itself, and I’m not going to solve it either unless my tank is full”, he waved at Peter with his mug, giving him a smug look.

“Still”, Peter frowned, actually looking concerned now. “Have you… you know, been sleeping properly and all that?”, he shrugged, awkward. Now that he thought about it, Mr. Stark looked more worn out than usual, heavy bags beneath his eyes and face pale. Tony stared at him for a moment with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, we’re not doing this”, he said simply, gesturing at the empty space between himself and Peter. The boy’s frown deepened.

“Doing what?”, he asked, confused. Tony sighed, rolled his eyes, downed his coffee with one long chug and placed the empty mug inside the sink before turning back to Peter.

“Look, kid. I’m the dad in this relationship. You don’t get to boss me around or worry about me. Leave that task to the grown up”, he tilted his head, indicating himself. Peter scoffed in disbelief, a confused smile appearing on his lips.

“What? I get to worry about you, too!”, he pointed out, amused at the ridiculousness of Tony’s statement.

“I don’t see why. I’m the one with billions of dollars in my bank account and a heavy security personnel. Oh, and did I mention I also own several topnotch suits of armor _and_ one of the world’s greatest brains?”, he approached Peter, placing an arm above his shoulder and tapping it before leading him out of the kitchen. “You’ve got no reason to worry about me. You should be worrying about _yourself_ , for a change”, he poked Peter’s chest with a finger.

“Uh, sure”, Peter scoffed again, imitating Tony’s usual ‘I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that’ look. He was so glad he had the liberty to act like that around Mr. Stark again. “That’s why you’re wearing your shirt inside out, right?”, he nodded at Tony’s shirt, and Mr. Stark followed his gaze to find that Peter was right. His shirt _was_ inside out.

“That’s – just a new fashion trend”, Tony waved it off. If Peter didn’t know better, he would have sworn Mr. Stark was blushing. “You wouldn’t understand it”, he added, tilting his face away from Peter.

Instead of teasing the clearly embarrassed Mr. Stark, Peter merely chuckled and grabbed his backpack from where it was sitting on the top of the billionaire’s fancy couch, shoving his Spider-Man mask inside it and throwing it over his shoulder.

“Get some sleep, Mr. Stark”, Peter suggested easily. “You know your productivity increases when you’re well-rested. Also, you can’t have a bunch of Midtown Tech students seeing those tired bags beneath your eyes tomorrow”, he added, squinting his eyes playfully at Tony, who simply sighed.

“What do you think the sunglasses are for, kiddo?”, he gave Peter a smug look. “ _You_ catch some sleep. You look like you could use it”.

Peter’s smile faltered a bit, even though he tried his best to hide it from Mr. Stark. Yeah, even though they were good now, and talking, and hanging out again, and even though Peter knew Mr. Stark didn’t hate him or think he was a murderer… still, he couldn’t get rid of the nightmares. They always woke him up in the middle of the night, and even though it was getting easier to get back to sleep now, sometimes Peter just stayed awake for hours, staring up at his ceiling and watching as its color pattern changed as the sun began to rise. Tony must have noticed his sudden discomfort, because the smile had disappeared from his lips, too, and he was staring at Peter with concern.

“Pete? You ok?”, he asked, probably fearing he had said something that triggered Peter. That wasn’t the case, but Peter couldn’t deny his discomfort talking about it. More than anything, he couldn’t deny his discomfort having nightmares in the first place. Letting out a shaky breath, Peter looked up at Mr. Stark and offered him a small, tentative smile, knowing that the time to have this dreaded conversation had finally arrived.

“Yeah, I’m fine”, he pursed his lips and nodded. “But I… I think I’m ready to try again”. Upon Tony’s clearly confused look, Peter cleared his throat and lowered his head for a moment, before meeting the man’s eyes. “I mean – about – about Doctor Kaplan”, he explained, feeling nervous and weirdly relieved at the same time. Tony’s face fell in realization, but he looked pleasingly surprised. “I think I want to give it another shot, uh, you know. See if it works out this time”.

“I’m glad you’re making that call, kid”, Tony tapped his shoulder, pride written all over his expressive eyes. “It’s going to be good for you”.

“Yeah, me – uh, me too”, he let out a slow, shaky breath, nodding emphatically at Mr. Stark. “I do have one condition, though?”, he added tentatively, urging a frown from Tony. Before the man could voice his confusion, Peter quickly added: “You have to get some therapy, too”.

Tony’s face immediately fell and he sighed heavily, looking tired. He was shaking his head, but Peter continued before he could protest.

“Mr. Stark, if it will be good to me, then it will be good to you, too”, he pointed out. “I don’t know exactly what happened to you at Afghanistan, or even before that, but I know it’s not too late to talk about it”.

“Kid”, Tony protested, not looking at Peter but clearly uncomfortable with that conversation.

“I mean it. You don’t have to deal with whatever happened to you on your own and…”, he hesitated, fearing he was about to cross a line. However, he knew the words needed to be said. Tony needed to know. “… and I don’t want. You know –”, he trailed off, lower lip quivering as he gathered the courage he needed to say the words. Tony raised his head to look at him. “I don’t want anything like… _what happened_ , to happen again. Just because you don’t know how to… You know, to deal with it. I – I don’t want you to push me away”, he swallowed dry, hating the tears that were pooling in his eyes. Tony looked equally miserable, his own eyes glistening and overcome by guilt.

“Peter –“, he tried to say, but Peter continued. Now that he had gotten the words out, he needed to go all the way through.

“And I’m not blaming you or anything, Mr. Stark, but I can’t go through that again because of something that could be fixed by just _talking_ to someone. And, well, ok, you don’t like to talk about your issues, but I don’t like to talk about mine too and you and everyone else keep saying that I need to do it, that therapy will be good to me, that it’ll make me feel better, so if that’s true for me, then it’s true for you, too. No double standards”, he concluded, managing to sound firmer than he actually felt. Tony was looking at him with unreadable eyes, as if he had just seen Peter for the first time. “I won’t do it unless you do, too”, he added, tilting his chin up defiantly even though his face was flushed and his eyes were wet.

Mr. Stark continued to stare at him for a long time, studying Peter’s face, before dropping his head and shaking it in resignation. When he looked at Peter again, there was a smirk on his lips.

“As usual, I was right”, he scoffed. “You’ve grown _spoiled_ , Parker”.

Peter gave Tony a hesitant chuckle, waiting anxiously and silently for his response with an expectant look on his face. Finally, Tony sighed and tapped Peter’s shoulder again, squeezing it.

“Fine”, he gave in. “I’ll see what I can do about that”.

Not convinced, Peter raised one of his hands, offering Tony his pinky finger. Tony eyed the hand as if it had personally offended him, before staring at Peter with disbelief.

“Seriously? A _pinky promise_? And you have the audacity to complain when I call you a baby?”, he raised his eyebrows at Peter, who simply offered his pinky finger to Tony more urgently. Rolling his eyes, Tony intertwined his pinky finger with Peter’s before letting go. “There. Are you happy now?”, he asked, impatient.

“You can’t break a pinky promise, Mr. Stark!”, Peter exclaimed, pointing a finger at Tony as he headed backwards to the front door. “I’ll hold you to that!”

“I’m sure you will”, Tony scoffed, watching as Peter opened the door and prepared to leave. “See you tomorrow, kid”, he said, purposefully teasing only so that Peter would get more curious about the fieldtrip. He didn’t have anything big planned up, but it would be funnier if Peter thought he did.

“Yeah, I guess”, Peter said, hesitant. “You catch some sleep, Mr. Stark!”, he reinforced his suggestion as he stepped outside, but before the door clicked behind him, Peter held it slightly open, peeking inside. “Uh, erm… Mr. Stark…?”, he added in a small, hesitant voice, calling the man’s attention.

“Yes?”, Tony turned to look at him. Peter just stared at him for a few moments before mustering the courage to say what he wanted to say. Already blushing before he even opened his mouth, Peter said the words with such rush and nervousness that they came out all mixed up.

“NothingIjustwantedtosaythatIloveyouandyou’rereallyimportanttomeokthat’sitgottagonowbye”.

Then the door closed behind him and Peter was gone before Tony could even understand what he was saying.

Allowing himself to fall down on his couch, a mixture of disbelief and amusement on his face, Tony scoffed out a small laugh and smiled. God, what could he have possibly done to deserve a kid as good as Peter Parker?

“Love you too, kid”, he mumbled to himself, even though the kid was long gone and he was all alone. He found he didn’t have as much trouble saying those words when he was by himself. He closed his eyes, a sense of deep relief and gladness flooding him as he realized that finally, _finally_ Peter was back into his life again. Shaking his head, he smiled again. “Love you too”, he repeated one more time.

He decided to drop his work and go to sleep, as Peter had suggested, hoping that the kid would manage to do the same.

 

 

 

 

 

Peter’s palms were sweaty as he stepped out of the bus, Ned right behind him and MJ following them from a distance. All the other students, with the exception of MJ, looked incredibly awed as they walked over to the Stark Industries New York Headquarters, eyes glowing with expectation and mouths hanging open from delight. Even Flash and his gang of bullies, who had been trying so hard to look untroubled by the whole experience of being there, had similar looks on their faces. Peter, on the other hand, couldn’t deny he was feeling nervous. Mr. Stark was up to something. He was sure of it.

Mr. Harrington gathered them all up in front of the building, waiting for everyone to catch up before they could enter. Even though SI was basically a second home to him by now, Peter couldn’t help but to feel nervous as he stood at the doors to the magnificent building, remembering the inadequacy he had felt on his first time there. He didn’t exactly feel the same inadequacy now, but something similar – a knowledge that he wasn’t supposed to be here, with these people, because he wasn’t granted allowance in his building for being Peter Parker, but for being Spider-Man. If it was up to his usual, regular nerdy self, Peter would have never even met Mr. Stark, let alone develop a relationship with him. Being there with the rest of his class felt like cheating.

Once everyone was gathered in front of the building, Mr. Harrington indicated for them to enter. Reaching the reception, Peter noticed that it was Julie there, probably covering for someone’s shift, but she didn’t see him behind the mass of students blocking him from her view. Peter was trying his best to lay low and not drawn attention to himself – it was bad enough everyone knew and teased him about the Stark internship; he didn’t need to have all eyes on him inside the building as well.

Julie was making visitor badges for each and every one of them, as required by protocol. Since they were so many, the process was taking some time, as she had to check everyone’s IDs and take photos for register. The students had formed a line to wait for their badges, but the progress was slow. Flash, who had ended up in front of Peter in the line, turned to him with a disgusted, annoyed scowl.

“You’d think that Tony would have a bigger staff to take care of his visitors”, he commented, carefully watching for Peter’s reaction. Peter simply looked away, uncomfortable. “What kind of billionaire leaves his guests waiting in line for so long to do something as simple as entering his building?”, he scoffed.

“What are you calling him ‘Tony’ for, dude?”, Ned asked from where he was standing in line behind Peter, leaning over his friend’s shoulder and speaking in a whispered tone, as if he was afraid Mr. Stark would hear him say his first name.

“Oh, I forgot to mention it”, Flash said with disdain, giving Peter a superior, smug look. “My dad knows one of Stark Industries’ shareholders”.

“So what?”, MJ grimaced in second-hand embarrassment from behind Ned. Peter didn’t know why he was surprised the girl had been listening to their conversation, since she was always so observant. “Peter _works_ for the guy, and he doesn’t call him Tony”.

“You really believe that?”, Flash giggled obnoxiously, shaking his head slightly. “Oh, man. The only reason I actually came to this dumb field trip was to see Parker get humiliated because of his lies. I can’t _wait_ to see the look on Tony’s face when he finds out some random student he’s never even seen has been spreading fake rumors about working for him”, he gave Peter an evil smirk before turning back around. During the conversation, the line had shortened a little, and Julie finally caught sight of Peter standing there with the rest of his class. A huge smile spread on the girls’ lips and she waved widely at him, trying to call his attention.

“Peter! Hey, Peter!”, she exclaimed from the counter. “What are you doing there? You can just go through using your own badge!”, she announced, loudly enough for everyone to hear.

There went his plan to lay low.

All eyes were suddenly glued on him and he couldn’t help but to blush violently, especially when Flash glared at him with wide, indignant eyes. He awkwardly reached for his backpack, hands already shaking as he opened it and looked for his badge. Mistaking his embarrassment for something it wasn’t, Julie continued:

 “Oh, did you lose it again?”, she asked with a fake-disappointed tone. “If you did, I can give you that extra one Mr. Stark had done for you”, she reached for something beneath the counter, and crap, Peter thought Mr. Stark had been joking when he talked about making Peter extra badges a few months back. Desperate not to call any more attention, Peter rushed out of the line and towards Julie as fast as he could with the fake cast enveloping his leg.

“No no no I didn’t lose it, I got it, I got it”, he said frantically before she could actually manage to find the extra badges. The weight of the gazes fixed on him was overwhelming. He pulled his badge out of the mess inside his backpack and waved it at Julie as if to prove he was saying the truth. She smiled at him again and went back to typing down on her computer, as Peter used his credentials to go through the turnstile. He very pointedly refused to look anywhere close to Flash’s general direction.

“I’m so glad to see you!”, she said without looking at him, focused on making the visitor badges as fast as she could. “How’s the leg healing up?”

“It’s doing fine”, Peter said simply, sticking around her since Ned and MJ were still in line and they were his only actual friends. “Dr. Cho says I can get rid of the cast soon”, he added. Julie didn’t know about him being Spider-Man, so she couldn’t know his leg was already healed.

“That’s great! You’ll finally be able to get back to the workshop, right?”, she said, a little too loudly for Peter’s liking. He was trying his best to keep their conversation hushed, so that no one would end up hearing it and thinking he was trying to brag about it, but Julie downright didn’t seem to care.

“Y-Yeah, yeah”, he answered nervously. Maybe talking to Julie about his routine at Stark Industries while his friends were so close wasn’t the best idea, so he decided to shut his mouth in order not to give her any chances to reveal more sensitive information. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he scrolled absentmindedly through several social networks, waiting for Ned and MJ to just get through already.

He spent some time distracting himself, and he didn’t even realize how long it had been since he had walked in until Flash was shouting right in front of him, sounding furious.

“What do you mean, you can’t get me a badge?”, he exclaimed with indignation, making a scene and drawing attention to himself. Peter could see the security guards in the front look inside, searching for the source of the disruption.

“Mr. Thompson, please keep your voice down”, Julie asked, but Peter could tell from the look on her face that she wasn’t playing around. “As I just told you, there seems to be a problem with your register. Have you ever been to Stark Industries before?”, she asked as calmly as she could.

“Of course I’ve been here before, my father is personal friends with one of the shareholders”, he said obnoxiously, earning an eye roll from MJ, who was still standing in line, and a muffled giggle from the rest of the class.

“I see”, Julie replied with disinterest. “Did you return your badge in your last visit?”, she asked simply, continuing to type down on her keyboard.

“ _What_?”, Flash asked, voice high pitched with indignation. The class erupted in muffled laughter again at the boy’s tantrum. “Of course I returned my badge! Are you saying I’m a thief?”

“Of course not, sir, but our security system is showing me that there is an active badge under the name of Flash Thompson which hasn’t been returned yet”, Julie explained without faltering upon Flash’s loud accusations. “This means I can’t give you a new one, because the system thinks you’re already inside”.

“Well, then _fix_ this!”, Flash ordered, sounding way more nervous than he intended to.

“Of course”, Julie nodded easily, calmly. “ _After_ I make the badges for the rest of your classmates”, she gestured at Ned, the next one on the line, indicating for him to approach. Flash glared as Peter’s friend stood beside him, offering Julie his ID and a wide smile.

“ _What_?”, he exclaimed again, looking distraught. “You can’t just pass him ahead of me like that!”

“Flash, just let the lady do her job”, Mr. Harrington said tiredly from where he was standing nearby, sounding disinterested.

“But that’s not fair!”, Flash protested, pointing at Ned. “I had to wait in line all this time, and now everyone gets their badge before me?”

“You should have returned your badge, Flash!”, MJ shouted in a monotone from her place in the line, earning laughter that wasn’t so muffled anymore from the rest of the class. Even Julie smiled.

“I’m telling you I returned my badge, you freak!”, Flash shouted angrily, looking like a child throwing a tantrum. Julie finished up Ned’s badge and gestured for MJ to follow him. Ned walked past the turnstile and stood beside Peter, an excited look on his face.

“Dude, this is so cool!”, he exclaimed, looking at where Flash was still complaining loudly and MJ was getting her badge done. “I can’t believe Flash stole a badge from Stark Industries”.

“Sometimes the system makes mistakes”, Peter shrugged, not really meeting Ned’s eyes. An idea had appeared in his mind about the reason behind the fieldtrip, but he didn’t want to jump to conclusions until he got the chance to ask Mr. Stark himself. “Gets names mixed up, and all that, you know? It doesn’t necessarily mean Flash stole the badge”.

“Yeah, but I mean, this is Mr. Stark’s security system”, Ned pointed out with a short shake of his head. “What are the chances it would make a mistake like that?”

Precisely.

“Yeah, I don’t know”, Peter chuckled nervously. “Maybe he did steal it, then”, he shrugged, giving Ned a hesitant smile. MJ walked past the turnstile, joining them silently, and after a few moments, all the students except for Flash had their credentials on. After everyone was standing inside the reception, Mr. Harrington instructed the students to gather up again.

“What?!”, Flash shrieked from the other side of the reception desk. “What about me?!”

“Ah – well, you just wait a bit until this issue gets solved, Flash”, Mr. Harrington explained hurriedly at the same time he showed the students which direction they were supposed to head to. “I’m sure it won’t take long, and we can’t delay the visit because of this. Just – catch up, ok?”, he instructed apologetically, giving the boy a small shrug before heading towards the building’s auditorium on the first floor, where Mr. Stark was supposed to deliver his opening speech before the visit started.

Peter saw the way Flash directed his indignant glare towards him, as if Peter was the one keeping him from entering the building, but he paid Flash no mind as he turned on his heels and headed to the auditorium. He had bigger concerns to focus on, such as what his interaction with Mr. Stark would be like.

To no one’s surprise, Mr. Stark wasn’t inside the auditorium as they entered it, and they had the time to freely choose which seats they would take. Despite of Ned’s insistence, Peter refused to sit on the front row, fearing that his decision to do so would only be interpreted as a free pass for Mr. Stark to make all sorts of embarrassing, dad-like teasing during his speech. Instead, Peter sat in the middle, noticing how Flash’s gang was sending him weird looks and glares every other minute.

“Where do you think he is?”, Ned asked anxiously from beside Peter, excited to see their childhood idol. Peter couldn’t help but to let out a small smile at the knowledge that, if it hadn’t been for Spider-Man, he would be sitting equally excited beside Ned on the chair, desperate to meet the unattainable Tony Stark. The fact that Peter had such a close, intimate relationship with Tony, despite of their remaining issues, awkwardnesses, and limitations, was already more than he could have ever asked for in his life. He hated bragging about it, and he certainly didn’t like to show off, but he couldn’t deny that it made him feel **good**. Not because he felt better than others – but because Mr. Stark filled a space in his life that had been vacant ever since Uncle Ben’s death, and… well, he was _Mr. Stark_. Who wouldn’t want to have Mr. Stark as their… as their…

Well, he couldn’t really say the word yet, but he was getting there.

Before Peter could tell Ned that Tony was probably just waiting right outside the backstage only to make himself look more important by arriving late, someone made an announcement over the speakers, and then Mr. Stark was there, walking into the stage on his fancy two-piece suit, wearing red sunglasses and holding a few speech cards on his hand. All voices in the auditorium died down upon the man’s entrance, and someone actually clapped, as if they thought Mr. Stark deserved applause even though he hadn’t said a word yet.

“Why, thank you”, he nodded at whoever it was, looking very pleased with himself. Placing the cards inside his suit, he adjusted the microphone so that it wouldn’t be too tall for him. “I can’t say I disagree with the notion that I deserve applause just for being myself”.

Everyone laughed, including Peter, even though his laughter sounded more nervous and strained than the others’. He adjusted himself on his seat, trying hard not to blush when Mr. Stark’s eyes searched for him amongst the crowd and actually winked at him once he found him. However, much to Peter’s relief, he wasn’t mentioned or acknowledged at all during Tony’s speech.

Tony gave a brief overview on Stark Industries’ foundation, telling them all about how his grandfather had the idea and how his father carried it on. Peter wasn’t surprised that Tony didn’t linger too much on his father or his accomplishments, preferring to focus on the shutdown of the weapons design program back in 2008 and how technology became their first priority to make up for the loss of their most lucrative sector. Tony was a really good public speaker, drawing everyone’s attention and hooking them with humor and information. The speech was meant to give the students a notion of what they would see on the building that day, so Tony would go into more details as they walked around. Just as Tony finished his speech, giving them permission to ask questions, Flash rushed into the auditorium, face flushed and shoulders hunched in embarrassment.

“Why did you become Iron Man?”, the first student who asked for the word questioned, leaning over the microphone. Peter’s eyes widened slightly, fearing the question could be triggering to Tony, but the billionaire simply laughed it off and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Because I had a lot of money and I wanted to put some actual use into it. Even though Stark Industries offers topnotch technology to several sectors of society, some of these actors don’t even know what a smartphone is. They suffer from violence, abuse, extortion and all sort of things that can’t be put into a list. Just selling fancy tech couldn’t help these particular people, so I decided to take a more… direct action”.

“How do you conciliate your personal life with the Avengers?”, another student that Peter recognized as Jason asked. Peter’s heart sped up again. He knew the Avengers break-up was still a sensitive subject to Tony. However, the billionaire simply shrugged, as if he had been asked about the weather, looking unbothered. Peter noticed with a twinge of sadness that Tony was really good at putting up façades, and wondered how many times he had done so in front of him without him realizing it.

“The Avengers are no more, dear, get with the news”, he said over the microphone, smirking. “But if you’re asking how I can be Iron Man _and_ Tony Stark at the same time, I’ll let you know it’s easy. But that’s only because I’m a billionaire, and I don’t really have to work”, he said arrogantly, earning another row of laughs. “Wouldn’t want to be one of those low-wage superheroes that actually have to worry about bills and rent”. Peter rolled his eyes, recognizing that the teasing was aimed at him and smirking. Not once did Tony look at him as he spoke.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Stark”, another student greeted, by far the most polite out of them. Tony’s smile was bright and wide.

“Hello, dear”, he replied in equal politeness. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Betty Brant”, the girl said. “I would like to know why you shut down the most lucrative sector of your industry back in 2008”.

Tony shifted on his feet on a moment, a movement that probably went unnoticed by everyone but Peter. So far, Tony had managed to reply to uncomfortable questions with generic answers, but now there was no way out of addressing something that was very personal to him.

“I’m going to assume you were all too young at that time to remember what happened before the shutdown”, he started, but Betty, who was still holding the microphone, replied.

“You were kidnapped by a terrorist group during a Stark Industries visit to Afghanistan, and was held hostage for about three months”, she provided. “What I’m trying to ask is what was the point in Stark Industries giving up on the weapon-building business when terrorist organizations have continued to dominate and control several parts of the world”.

“Someone did her homework”, Tony raised an amused eyebrow, earning several chuckles from the crowd. Peter watched him with hawk eyes for any sign of faltering. He found none.

“I want to be a journalist”, Betty explained simply, making Tony nod.

“It shows”, he jested. More chuckles. “But tell me this, Betty. While you were doing your research, did you find any record of these current terrorist organizations using Stark technology to harm people?”

“No”, Betty replied promptly.

“Did you find any record of a terrorist organization called The Ten Rings having recent activity?”

“No”.

“But did you find any of these things in your research pre-2008?”, Tony tilted his head.

“Yes, actually”, Betty admitted. She didn’t look intimidated, and Tony didn’t sound like he was trying to make her feel that way. “The Ten Rings didn’t reemerge after you shut them down, and none of these groups have used Stark tech since you terminated the weapons sector”.

“Precisely”, Tony gestured at her. “That is why I did it. You see, when my pops got into the weapon business, he lived in a different America. He lived in a different _world_. What he did, and what I did for a good part of my years leading this company, was believe that we were doing some good by developing and improving weapon technology. We believed we were protecting America and making it stronger by building those things. But what we choose to believe isn’t always true”, he looked at Peter. “And I had to learn that lesson the hard way”, he added, and Peter couldn’t be sure whether that comment was still referring to Afghanistan or to what had happened between them for the past weeks. “Weapons made us money, that’s true, more than any other sector of the company. But it also cost us a very high price – _lives_. People were dying because of my creations, and that was something I would not stand for any longer. And, yes, lives are still being lost because of terrorism all over the world, but contrary to common belief, I’m not omnipotent”, he shrugged, smug, earning another row of chuckles. “I try my best to do what I can to ensure people’s safety, and Stark Industries has been developing a new project to support and protect victims of terrorism for the past semester, but I still believe removing my guns from their inventory was a very big step towards world peace”.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark. That was very clarifying”, Betty said with a smile, sitting back down.

“You’re quite welcome”, he smiled, waiting for a moment as a row of applause from the students emerged in the auditorium. Once the sound died down, he continued: “Stop by our HR on your way out. We’re not big fans of journalists, but we like people with initiative. Maybe we could help you find an internship”, he told her with a wink. Betty blushed slightly, but smiled again and nodded her thanks.

 “Ok, does anyone have any more questions or can we move on to the visit?”, Tony asked, sounding just slightly impatient. Peter could tell Flash was itching to just stand up and ask if Peter and Tony actually knew each other, but, already embarrassed by his delay in entering the auditorium, he decided to stay quiet. Upon no protests, Tony set down the microphone and indicated for the students to follow him out, waiting until everyone had stepped out of the auditorium and gathered outside before following them.

He cleared his throat to call the student’s attention, and once again Peter was impressed by the way Tony seemed able to mesmerize a crowd with little actions. Everyone immediately stopped talking, turning to look at him, and he seemed unbothered by the attention.

“We are going to start the tour here on the first floor, then we can move on the underground section and all the way up to the third floor. Unfortunately, you can’t have access to anything beyond that, since it’s confidential”, he added, giving Peter another wink. “If you’ll follow me”, he gestured for the students to trail behind him, but before he could officially commence the tour, he turned on his heels and looked straight at Flash. “Do try to keep up this time, kid. Being late is usually considered impolite, but being late to a meeting with _me_ is something I find… _unacceptable_ ”, he said with a scolding tone, face stern. Peter’s eyes bulged in their sockets and, when he looked at Flash’s face to see the boy’s reaction, he found a similar look on his bright red face. Tony didn’t linger around and took lead of the crowd of students, leaving a stunned Flash and a shocked Peter behind. Ned found the pair and nudged at Peter’s arm with his elbow, not having heard Mr. Stark’s comment.

“C’mon, dude. I know you’re trying not to call attention, but I totally want to be near Mr. Stark to hear what he has to say!”, Ned exclaimed with excitement. Peter spared Flash one final concerned look before nodding at Ned and following his friend, the pair of them trying to squeeze their way between a mass of students so they could get closer to Tony.

The first floor didn’t have much to show and Peter knew that already; it basically consisted of Stark Industries’ external relations and a bunch of offices that dealt with contract signatures and other law-related issues that could arise (which happed a lot, since Tony was… well, Tony). Still, Peter listened carefully to everything Mr. Stark was saying, even though he already knew it all, not only because it would be disrespectful to ignore him but also because he really loved hearing about Stark Industries’ organization, even if the sectors they were visiting on that moment weren’t that interesting. Furthermore, Peter knew the best part was arriving. The underground section was where Tony kept the arc reactor that powered up the building, which was by far Peter’s favorite part of Stark Industries headquarters. To think that Tony was able to reproduce such a magnificent, complex structure in a miniaturized version while being tortured in a cave in Afghanistan… it was truly astonishing. Peter only hoped no one would bring up the time Tony was held hostage again, since he knew that was a sensitive subject to his mentor.

Flash was uncharacteristically quiet behind them, even after he was reunited with his friends, who teased him for being late and asked him why he wasn’t sticking close to Mr. Stark. Flash mumbled out an undiscernible excuse that Peter wasn’t really able to make out, but he decided to pay his bullies no attention. Even though it was undeniable that things had been only going downhill for Flash and his reputation ever since they arrived at the building, Peter decided that it wasn’t his problem. Flash kind of deserved it for tormenting him for so long, didn’t he? Still, deep down inside, Peter couldn’t help but to feel sorry for the guy. The look of pure shame, increased by the flushing of his face when Mr. Stark told him not to be late again… it was something Peter didn’t see very often, and he wasn’t sure how it made him feel. Sympathetic, maybe? He was definitely pitying Flash, but decided not to think about that too much.

Mr. Stark asked a few questions about the sectors they had just visited, urging the students to speak up and test their knowledge. Peter didn’t speak up at all, even though he knew all the answers to Mr. Stark’s questions, and, in the end, it was MJ who ended up getting most of everything right. Two of Flash’s friends attempted to answer, probably as a way to call Mr. Stark’s attention, but only one of them got the answer right. Peter was extremely aware that Mr. Stark was sending him suggestive glances, almost urging him to just speak up, but Peter pretended not to see them, sticking to his plan of laying low.

They had to split into groups to get into the elevators to the underground section, since they were too many to fit just one. Peter ended up in a group with Ned, MJ, Betty, Jason, Mr. Harrington and Mr. Stark, an awkward silence falling upon the elevator as soon as the doors closed. Mr. Harrington, Ned, and Jason were obviously too awkward to say anything despite of their clear eagerness to do so, whereas MJ looked as neutral as always and Betty was taking some notes in her notepad. Peter, however, kept shifting nervously on his feet, staring at Mr. Stark with a wary look. Mr. Stark stared back at him, smugness written all over his face, and god, could this elevator ride take any longer?

“Feeling excited, Pete?”, Mr. Stark finally asked after a few seconds of staring, a shit-eating grin blossoming on his lips when all the eyes in the elevator turned to him. Peter could feel a blush rising to his face but suppressed it, deciding to play into Tony’s game. Tony was clearly trying to embarrass him in front of his friends in a somewhat dad-style, but Peter wouldn’t allow himself to be intimidated. He actually felt a little less uncomfortable now that Flash and his crew weren’t around, and decided to act as he normally would around his mentor.

“Yeah”, Peter nodded emphatically, smiling and doing his best to ignore all the eyes darting between Mr. Stark and him. “You know the arc reactor is my favorite section”.

“I know”, Mr. Stark nodded back in confirmation, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Why do you think I put it so early into the visit? Kid can’t get enough of this tech”, he turned to tell Ned and Mr. Harrington, whose faces were so blatantly surprised, even though they _knew_ that Peter and Mr. Stark knew each other, that it was actually comic. The elevator finally pinged open, but none of them dared to step out before Tony did. “Do try and answer my questions now, kiddo”, Mr. Stark said above his shoulder as he walked out, the small group following behind him hesitantly. “I know you already know everything I’m about to say, and that is exactly why you should speak up when no one else does. I’m trying to prove a point here”.

With that, Tony increased the speed of his pace so that he could get ahead of the group, and soon everyone was gathered in front of him again. The underground section of Stark Industries was very tricky, since it was full of corridors that looked exactly alike and it was very easy to get lost there. Since it was so deep beneath the ground, phone reception there was awful, so getting separated from the group was a real risk that no one would want to be under. Mr. Stark advised them all to stick together and follow him closely, leading the way through a few engineering rooms before they got to the actual arc reactor.

Mr. Stark started to stare blatantly at Peter every time he asked a question, leaving the boy no choice but to answer. At first, he did so hesitantly, unwilling to draw attention to himself, but after Mr. Stark shout out a very loud and inconvenient “speak up, Parker, or people will keep wondering why I hired you as my intern!”, he found himself forced to comply. Before they reached the arc reactor, Peter had answered every single question Mr. Stark had asked him correctly, and with each nod of agreement or pat on the back he received from his mentor, Peter grew more confident and less awkward about having all eyes glued to him. He even managed to ignore Flash and his friends, who were apparently fuming with rage and envy behind him.

When they finally reached the reactor, all eyes widened in surprise and admiration at the structure, which was undeniably magnificent. Even Peter, who had seen it so many times – miniature version included – found himself gaping at the giant reactor. One would expect it to whirr loudly, or at least emit some sort of noticeable vibration across the floor, given its size and the fact that it powered up an entire building, but the reactor was silent and still, glowing brightly with that blue hue that Peter never got to actually see emanating from Tony’s chest, at least not personally. Tony began to explain the story behind the arc reactor, asking a few questions here and there that Peter replied without thinking about it, without taking his eyes off the glowing arc. Replying to Tony’s questions was second nature to him, and he couldn’t honestly care less about the attention he was getting. Seeing the immensity of that complex structure – seeing the result and the fruits of Tony’s brilliant mind – put everything into a whole new perspective. How could he possibly care about what Flash thought about him when he was standing in front of something so magnificent?

“This is so cool”, Ned whispered in awe beside of him. When he turned to look at his friend, he found that even MJ seemed surprised by the arc reactor, which was saying something. “I can’t believe you memorized everything”, Ned added, eyes wide as he stared at the reactor.

“I didn’t”, Peter admitted, speaking in a low voice so that he wouldn’t be overheard. “Mr. Stark taught me about it”.

“ _Dude_ ”, Ned whispered, sounding even more awed, if that was even possible. “I wish _I_ was Mr. Stark’s intern!”

Peter chuckled at this, turning to look at the reactor again. Maybe he could talk to Mr. Stark about getting Ned a job there? His friend certainly deserved it, and Peter knew he was more than capable of working for Tony.

“You kids are free to take selfies if you want”, Mr. Stark added after finishing his explanation about the reactor. “Geez, I never thought I’d actually have to encourage you to do that. Usually the first thing you kids ask is if it’s ok to snap pictures all around the building”, he rolled his eyes fondly, earning another roll of chuckles. Peter was the first one to grab his phone and take a selfie with Ned, the arc reactor glowing not far behind them. Then, he took a selfie alone – he was definitely sending Mr. Stark that one – and another with MJ and Ned. It didn’t take long for everyone to start taking selfies and, after a few minutes, someone suggested they took a group photo, everyone gathering in front of the reactor. Peter couldn’t help but to feel his smile widen when Mr. Stark passed an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close for the photo. To think that, one month before, Mr. Stark still refused to admit he liked to give Peter hugs! Things had really changed between them, even if horrid events had to take place for it to happen. The memory of Gargan and freezers and broken legs made the smile die down on Peter’s face, and even though Mr. Stark noticed it, he decided not to comment on it. That was not the time or the place to talk about that subject.

“So, before we move on”, Mr. Stark announced, gathering everyone’s attention again once they were done with the selfies. “Let’s see how much you all paid attention. When was the first version of the Arc Reactor developed?”, his eyes searched the crowd, but, to Peter’s surprise, they didn’t focus on him, but on Flash. “You. Late boy”, Tony pointed at him.

“I – I… When was it… Uh…”, Flash hesitated, clearly caught off guard. He stuttered for a while, clearly embarrassed and awkward from having all eyes on him, and his hesitation made Tony roll his eyes and point to the boy beside him, who was one of his friends.

“You?”, Tony raised an inquiring eyebrow, almost challenging the boy to answer.

“Uh, 1965”, the boy answered, full of certainty, making Peter grimace in anticipation despite of himself. That wasn’t the right answer.

“Wrong”, Tony replied simply, mercilessly. He finally turned to Peter. “Pete?”, he nodded at the boy, as if he was sure there was no way he’d get that wrong. He was already looking at Peter as a proud father would look at his son, and the sight made warmness spread inside the boy’s chest.

“1967”, Peter answered in a low voice, not wanting to make the other boys feel humiliated or increase their hatred towards him. Tony smiled widely and patted Peter’s shoulder.

“See?”, he turned to look at Flash again, one hand squeezing Peter’s shoulder. “That’s why I hired you to be my intern. You never get a question wrong”, he gave Flash that fake smile he always put on whenever he said something extremely ironic to the media. Flash’s face paled and, if looks could kill, he would have fulminated Peter on the spot.

“ _Mr. Stark_ ”, Peter groaned lowly so that only the billionaire could hear him, a hidden pleading in his tone. Mr. Stark probably thought he was helping Peter by humiliating Flash and his friends in front of everyone, but the truth was – this course of action never worked. Having your parents complain about bullies didn’t stop the bullying; it only increased it. Peter was sure he would end up receiving one hell of a beating – one he would never be able to return, since he had superhuman strength and would probably end up sending these kids to the hospital if he defended himself – if Mr. Stark kept this teasing up.

“Let us move, then, children. Come on”, he gave Peter’s shoulder one last squeeze, as if to reassure him that he knew what he was doing, before he gestured for the group to follow him, leaving Peter behind and leading them into the maze of corridors that composed the underground. Ned quickly found his way to Peter, and he had been smiling so much ever since they arrived that there was no way the muscles in his face weren’t cramping.

“ _Oh my_ _god_ , dude, what just happened?!”, he asked, looking like Christmas had arrived early. “Mr. Stark totally obliterated Flash back there!”

“I know”, Peter groaned in dismay, not daring to even look at Flash’s general direction as if not to give the boy an excuse to approach him. He fished his phone out of his pocket, sending a quick text to Mr. Stark even though he was aware he had no phone reception down there.

**From: Peter Parker**

Please stop teasing Flash he’s going to murder me when we get back to school

Tony continued talking about other reactors Stark Industries had developed, but none of them was as interesting as the arc. Before they went back upstairs, Tony took them to a small room where one of the many miniaturized arc reactors he had manufactured were on display. This wasn’t the same one that Tony had showed him in the past, and Peter knew that because the one he had seen had a special engraving around it. _Proof that Tony Stark has a heart_ , or something like that, a special gift Pepper had given Mr. Stark when he returned from captivity. Back then, Peter had found the idea of using a reactor to prove Tony had a heart ludicrous. Of _course_ he had a heart. One only had to get to know him a bit better than the average person to realize that.

The room containing the reactor was too small for all the students to step inside at the same time and, since Peter was already familiar with the mini version of the arc reactor, he decided to wait outside, trying to find some reception in order to get his text to Mr. Stark through. He was so distracted in his endeavors that he didn’t notice Flash approaching him, a look of embarrassment and anger etched in his eyes as he pushed Peter against a wall.

And yeah, ok, Peter had thought Flash would have at least waited until they were away from Mr. Stark to bully him, but that didn’t seem to be the case. He had his forearm pressed against Peter’s chest, pushing him hard against the wall, and he looked around to check if there was anyone else out there with them before speaking. They were alone, all the students squeezed up inside the mini-reactor room, but even so, Flash spoke in a hushed tone as if not to draw attention.

“I bet you think you’re so _smart_ , don’t you, Penis Parker?”, he half-whispered, half-hissed, and Peter wasn’t exactly scared of him, but he wasn’t comfortable with the situation, either. Flash never got physical with him – he much preferred to get verbal, since they both knew that, even though Peter was seen as nerdy and wimpy, despite of his secret muscles, Flash still couldn’t take him on a hand-to-hand. The fact that he was actually physically attacking Peter on that moment made the boy very worried. “So yeah, maybe you weren’t lying about the internship after all, but this whole little show Stark is putting up is really pathetic to see”, he shook his head almost disapprovingly. “Humiliating other students just to favor you? Asking questions no one but _you_ knows how to answer, since you _work_ here? That’s foul play. That’s _unethical_ , even”, he scoffed in disgust. “And don’t think too much of yourself just because you work here”, he added menacingly. “You may have become Stark’s little pet for some reason, but you’re still a _parentless_ , penniless loser, so don’t fool yourself into thinking you’re anything other than that”, he pushed Peter again, and the boy lost his balance thanks to the cast on his leg. He slid down to the floor, back glued against the wall and a hurt look on his face as Flash’s words hit a bit too close to home. He always knew exactly what to say to hurt Peter’s feelings, and seemed to relish on the wounded look that appeared on Peter’s eyes. “No matter how smart you act, or how much Stark kisses your ass, he’s never going to be your father”, Flash added, smirking maliciously as he stared down at Peter. “And no matter how hard you try to use people as your stepping stone, you’re never going to be anything other than poor, _pathetic_ little Parker. So stay the hell out of my way and stop looking so smug just because you did something that was expected of you. You’re not better than me”, he spat venomously, sparing Peter one final disgusted look, before turning on his heels and entering the mini-reactor room.

Peter let out a shaky breath he didn’t realize he had been holding before closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall. He couldn’t say he was scared of Flash – he knew the boy’s actions and words were only a result of the insecurity he felt towards Peter, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt any less. Talking about his parents was a low blow, and both Peter and he knew that. Deciding that it would be hard to explain why he was sitting on the floor, should he be found by the rest of his class and Mr. Stark in that state, Peter struggled to get to his feet, taking longer than he usually would thanks to the fake cast on his leg. Once he was up, he grabbed his phone again, finding that his message to Mr. Stark had gotten through, but hadn’t been seen yet. He sighed and decided to reinforce his point.

**From: Peter Parker**

Ok, correction: please stop teasing Flash or he’s going to murder me. Doesn’t matter where

He sighed, closing his eyes again. It didn’t take long for the class to step out of the room, and Peter didn’t meet Mr. Stark’s eyes as he passed him on the hall. If he had done so, he would have seen the worried, suspicious look the billionaire sent towards him.

Peter ended up in a different group from Mr. Stark on their elevator ride to the upper floors, but Ned and MJ stuck with him. Ned was so excited about everything they were seeing at SI that he didn’t even notice that Peter’s face had taken a slightly grimmer look, and MJ was too focused on Ned’s constant blabbering about how cool the arc reactor was to pay attention to that, either. Peter shook his head slightly, trying to recompose himself. He couldn’t let Flash’s words get to him. He couldn’t let his nice day at Stark Industries be ruined just because Flash couldn’t handle a little competition. He had to raise his head and carry on, put on a façade like Mr. Stark was so good at doing and continue his day unbothered.

But the words ‘parentless’, ‘pathetic’, and ‘he’s never going to be your father’ kept echoing inside his head, no matter how hard Peter tried to shake them off.

The visit to the other floors was interesting, but not as much as the one to the underground had been. They went to the New Tech sector, which was where SI’s scientists came up with most of the new projects to be developed by the industries, and to the Science Lab, which was where these projects were put into action. Tony did ask them more questions, but Peter didn’t reply to all of them, giving the chance to his other colleagues. Tony didn’t tease him for it or protest his lack of response, probably acknowledging that if he kept insisting that only Peter replied, he may be accused of favoritism.

When they returned to Stark Industries’ main hall, Betty had six pages worth of annotations in her notepad, Ned had a constant grin on his face and sparkles in his eyes, MJ looked less bored, and all the other students shared the same disappointed look, since their visit was coming to an end. However, instead of bidding them all farewell and goodbye, as Peter had expected, Mr. Stark made an announcement that sent Peter’s blood freezing in his veins.

“Before you all leave and go back to tell everyone at Midtown Tech how amazing my company is”, he jested, earning a row of chuckles. “I would like to speak to some of you in private. _If_ – you allow, of course”, he turned to Mr. Harrington, waiting for consent.

“Of – of course” the teacher nodded, even if Mr. Stark’s tone left no place for a denial. “That’s ok”.

“Terrific. Late boy”, he pointed at Flash, whose eyes widened in surprise before squinting in suspicion. “You’re with me. Your buddies, too”, he nodded at the boys lingering behind Flash. Peter sent Mr. Stark a silent, pleading look that read ‘please don’t do or say anything that will potentially get me killed’, but Mr. Stark merely winked at him. Sensing Peter’s distress, he added, looking at Flash and his friends: “You don’t have to worry. I just want to talk to you about the possibility of an internship”. His tone was reassuring and there was a smile on his face, but Peter recognized it as being the infamous, fake media-smile.

Flash’s expression visibly changed, and he sent a smug, malicious, _victorious_ smirk towards Peter as he walked past him.

“Told you to watch your back, Parker”, Flash whispered so that only Peter could hear him, giving the boy one final disdainful look before following Mr. Stark into a hall. His friends trailed behind him, sending Peter similar looks before disappearing with Mr. Stark. The rest of the class kept staring at Peter, trying to search his face for any answers regarding what was happening, but there were none. Peter didn’t know what Mr. Stark was going to tell them, either.

“Well, they – they can catch up with us when they’re done”, Mr. Harrington announced hesitantly, clearly not having expected that something of that kind would happen. “We should get going to the bus”, he indicated for his students to head out of the building, organizing them into a line so that they could go through the turnstiles and give back their badges. Peter now knew he didn’t have to wait, since he could use his own badge, so he passed ahead of them and waited for Ned and MJ outside. He would have liked to bid his goodbyes for Julie, but the girl’s shift was suspiciously over by the time their visit ended.

Once Ned and MJ were out, Peter accompanied them back to the school bus, taking the window seat and staring anxiously at the front door of Stark Industries. Flash and his friends would walk out any moment now. Peter had no idea what Tony wanted to talk to them about and, even though he knew the chances Tony would actually offer them an internship were incredibly low, he couldn’t help but to fear, irrationally, that it would happen. Even if it didn’t, this conversation could lead to nothing good – and the fact that Tony had disguised his real intentions behind an internship offer only indicated that Peter was about to have a really, _really_ bad time at school.

Flash and his friends walked out of Stark Industries after about ten tense minutes, and Peter spent this whole time checking his phone to see if Mr. Stark had responded to his texts. He had left Peter on read, which only made him more anxious. The boy could only hope Mr. Stark wouldn’t do anything too extreme, because Peter couldn’t possibly defend himself from Flash’s friend’s beatings. He was too strong. He could end up killing them, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he hurt anyone else after what happened to Gargan, even if the people he was hurting were his bullies. He couldn’t carry that weight. He would have to take the beating silently and not fight back, which was extremely frustrating, not to mention painful, because Peter could stop a high-speed bus using his little finger, but he couldn’t stop some nasty high school kids from bullying him without compromising his moral integrity.

As the boys walked into the bus, Peter noticed the grim looks on their faces. Flash looked more terrified than anything, eyes wide and face unhealthily pale, a sheen of sweat covering his brow. The other boys seemed to be more angry than afraid, sending death-glares towards Peter. One of them actually snarled at him, which sent a frown to Peter’s face.

**From: Peter Parker**

Mr. Stark what did you do

“Did you remember to return your badge this time, Flash?”, MJ leaned over Peter’s seat and asked loudly, earning barely concealed laughter from the rest of the students. Flash scowled as he stopped on the bus’s corridor right in front of the girl.

“Mind your own business, weirdo”, he spat, huffing out an indignant breath and heading to the back end of the bus, as far away from Peter as possible.

**From: Tony Stark**

Nothing they didn’t deserve to

**From: Tony Stark**

We’ll talk about that later

**From: Tony Stark**

Just rest assured that they won’t bother you anymore. I handled it.

“Did you get the internship, Flash?”, one oblivious student asked, probably not taking into consideration that Flash’s grim face indicated precisely the opposite.

“ _Shut up_ ”, was Flash’s grumpy, barely audible response.

One of Flash’s furious-looking friends stopped in front of Peter before heading to his seat, a vicious scowl on his face. He shook his head, looking disgusted, eyeing Peter as if he was some kind of vermin.

“You’re _dead_ , Parker”, he said, voice menacing but very audible. Flash perked up on his seat at the words, giving his friend a warning look.

“Shut up, idiot”, Flash said, voice almost high-pitched in desperation. He looked actually afraid, his face paling even more. “Just sit down”.

“What, do you think Stark will actually –“, the boy turned to look at Flash, indignation written all over his face, but was cut off by his friend’s abrupt and loud interruption.

“Just sit your ass here and leave Parker alone”, he instructed, crossing his arms above his chest and looking out the window. Everyone’s eyes darted between Flash and Peter, clearly taken aback by the turn of events. Usually, Flash encouraged people to bully and threaten Peter, not the other way around.

His friend pointed Peter with one final angry glare before doing as he was told and heading to the back of the bus in order to seat beside Flash. The rest of the gang walked past Peter, sending him similar looks, but none of them dared to say anything and, ok, _what the hell_ was going on?

**From: Peter Parker**

Mr. Staaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrkkkkkkkkkkkkk

**From: Peter Parker**

Please tell me what you said to them

**From: Tony Stark**

Curiosity killed the cat

**From: Tony Stark**

Or should I say the little spider?

**From: Tony Stark**

Anyway, I’ll tell you all about it when you come over after your patrol

**From: Peter Parker**

Pretty please? :-(

**From: Tony Stark**

Putting noses on your faces only encourages me not to tell you anything

**From: Peter Parker**

You’re mean :-(

**From: Tony Stark**

I’m actually the best

**From: Peter Parker**

Ugh fine

**From: Tony Stark**

You know you can’t deny it, kid

**From: Tony Stark**

How did you like the field trip?

**From: Tony Stark**

Was my speech too boring?

**From: Peter Parker**

I’ll tell you all about it when I come over after my patrol :-)

**From: Tony Stark**

Wow, you want some salt to accompany all that bitterness?

**From: Tony Stark**

I still can’t believe I’m raising a spoiled kid

**From: Peter Parker**

I still can’t believe you’re making me wait for hours to tell me what you said to Flash when you know I am an extremely curious person

**From: Tony Stark**

Happy was right. You’re absorbing all of my drama

Mr. Harrington was saying something about the trip while Peter texted Mr. Stark, but he didn’t really pay any attention to it. The bus came to a start and they took off, Ned chatting excitedly with MJ as they headed back to Midtown Tech.

**From: Peter Parker**

Well, I learned with the best

**From: Tony Stark**

Can’t say that’s not true

**From: Tony Stark**

Anyway, happy trails, kid. Let me know when you’re coming over

**From: Peter Parker**

Fine. But I’ll want an in-depth explanation for why Flash actually stood up for me and stopped me from getting bullied

**From: Tony Stark**

Kid’s a fast learner

**From: Tony Stark**

Also, I may have threatened his family

**From: Peter Parker**

WHAT???

**From: Peter Parker**

MR STARK ARE YOU ACTUALLY SERIOUS

**From: Tony Stark**

More details later. Go back to school

**From: Peter Parker**

MR STARK WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU THREATENED HIS FAMILY

**From: Tony Stark**

Stop yelling at me

**From: Tony Stark**

And don’t worry about it, he can’t legally prove anything

**From: Peter Parker**

THAT ACTUALLY MAKES IT WORSE

**From: Tony Stark**

Just relax, spider-kid. It’s not as bad as it sounds

**From: Tony Stark**

I’ll explain everything later

**From: Tony Stark**

Don’t freak out over this. Go to school, do your non-threatening, on-the-ground patrol and I’ll tell you all about it later

**From: Peter Parker**

Should I be worried??

**From: Tony Stark**

No

**From: Peter Parker**

Fine, then

**From: Peter Parker**

But I’ll really want an explanation ok

**From: Tony Stark**

As you wish, kiddo

**From: Tony Stark**

Golly, you really are getting spoiled

**From: Tony Stark**

Ok, gotta go now. I already wasted a lot of time on this cautionary field trip. Text me when you’re on your way over so I can order us pizza

**From: Peter Parker**

Pepperoni? :-D

**From: Tony Stark**

You bet

**From: Peter Parker**

No fruit

**From: Tony Stark**

No promises

Peter set his phone down and stared out of the window, finally noticing the way Ned was staring at him, probably due to the way Flash had stood up for him just a moment before. Giving his best friend an apologetic shrug, Peter said in a low voice, careful not to be overheard:

“I have no idea, either. He’ll only tell me about it later”.

Ned looked disappointed at the lack of solution for the mystery, but nodded understandingly at Peter, who went back to staring off the window. He didn’t dare to look back at Flash or at any of his friends, deciding that, until he figured out what exactly Mr. Stark had said to them, it would be better not to risk a confrontation. As the bus came to a stop in front of Midtown Tech a few moments later, Peter tried not to think too much about the way Flash still looked like he was about to be sick when he passed by him, or about the way he refused to meet Peter’s eyes for the rest of the day.

 

 

 

 

 

Peter had never finished a patrol so fast in his life, and he could only be grateful that Queens didn’t seem to be under any sort of imminent threat as he webbed his way around to Tony’s. Just as he finished webbing a common robber up, he called the police to let them know the criminal’s location and immediately texted Mr. Stark to let him know he was on his way. That criminal was the only trouble Peter had found on that night so far, and the man was obviously too high to fight back.

He didn’t really like finishing his patrols too early, because there was no telling when a more serious criminal could decide to wreak havoc out of nowhere, but he was also dying to see Mr. Stark already and he figured he could always get back to Queens in a jiffy if things went haywire. As he swung and swung his way through buildings and busy streets, Peter had an idea.

“Hey, Karen?”, he called for the A.I. He had missed her so much during his time not being Spider-Man, that now he chatted with her at every given opportunity. Sometimes, even as he laid in bed after a long day of patrols, tired and longing for sleep, he still took some time to just talk to her, even if he didn’t have anything to say. He was still slightly scared that she could break confidentiality – did they even have any? Peter never bothered to ask – and tell Mr. Stark all about their conversations. But now that he had finally made peace with Mr. Stark, he didn’t really worry about him knowing. What could be embarrassing about Peter telling Karen all about his day, or about the new RPG he and Ned were creating, or about his Spanish quiz? It wasn’t as if he didn’t tell Mr. Stark most of that stuff already.

Still, Peter never directly told Karen about the nightmares. If there was a chance she was spilling his beans all over Mr. Stark, Peter wouldn’t want him to know about the way he saw his dead corpse lying just beside his uncle’s when he fell asleep. He wouldn’t want Mr. Stark to know how scared Peter was of losing him, or how pathetic he felt whenever he woke up in the middle of the night, chest heaving and brow covered in sweat. So, whenever he was abruptly brought back into consciousness at 3 or 4 a.m., he would simply put his Spider-Man mask on and breathe silently, counting down from a hundred and trying to make his heart behave. Karen did ask him about it on the first time, but after Peter said he didn’t want to talk about it, she didn’t push him to. Even though Peter never directly told her what was wrong or what he was feeling, she still seemed to be able to tell, if the breathing exercises and meditation tips she gave him were any indication of that. And, if she ever did tell Mr. Stark or Friday about Peter’s late-night breakdowns, the billionaire never brought the subject up.

“Yes, Peter?”, the A.I. responded to his call, ready as always.

“Uh, just, tell me if something happens in Queens while I’m off at Mr. Stark’s, ok?”, Peter instructed hesitantly, focusing on calculating the distance and angle from which he had to shoot the next web, and the next, and the next, as he continued to swing between buildings.

“Of course”, Karen complied promptly. “What kind of event would you like me to report?”, she asked, and Peter couldn’t help but to sigh. He kept forgetting how literal Karen could get sometimes.

“You know, usual bad-guy stuff”, Peter shrugged. “Robberies, fights, assaults, that sort of thing. Just – let me know if someone needs my help”.

“So I should report in case someone needs Spider-Man’s assistance”, Karen asked for confirmation.

“Yep. You are”, he stuck the tip of his tongue out past his lips, concentrating on a particularly hard angle to hit with his web, “correct”, he concluded after he hit bullseye.

“Understood. I will send a notification to your personal phone, in case you are not wearing your mask in that eventuality”, she provided.

“Thanks, K”, Peter smiled softly. “You’re the best”.

He got to Mr. Stark’s in little less than ten minutes, sneaking in through a window in the way he knew was bound to give his mentor a fright. Crawling his way upside down across the ceiling, Peter stealthed into the kitchen in his best spider-like manner, finding Mr. Stark with his back turned to him. The billionaire was sitting by the kitchen counter, tapping something on his phone while a still hot pizza box sat beside him. Peter carefully placed himself almost directly above Mr. Stark on the tall kitchen ceiling.

Even before the whole… _Gargan incident_ , when Peter and Tony had been growing closer to each other but not-quite-that-close-just-yet, Peter _loved_ doing this. There weren’t too many people in his life he could do this sort of thing around – crawl on walls, hang from ceilings, act purposefully like a spider –, only Ned and Mr. Stark, but Ned always screamed too loudly whenever Peter gave him a fright, and one time, the boy’s mom almost caught Peter in his Spider-Man suit because of this. Mr. Stark, on the other hand, would only gasp sharply and take a hand to his chest, eyes wide, before scolding Peter with all sorts of curses. Peter found this particularly amusing – using his powers to pull pranks on Mr. Stark, crawling on ceilings and sneaking up on him. Now that they were talking to each other again, Peter figured it wouldn’t harm to go back to this usual demeanor of his. Maybe it would serve as a way to reinforce their return to stability, right?

But then –

“Give it up, Underoos”, Tony said with indifference from where he was sitting by the counter, never looking up or taking his eyes off his phone. “Friday already told me you’re up there”.

Peter groaned loudly in disappointment, using one of his webs to lower himself to Tony’s field of vision, hanging upside down from the ceiling in front of his mentor with his legs pulled into a butterfly pose. Tony gave him an unimpressed look.

“Aw, man. Friday is such a spoilsport”, he complained, voice muffled by his mask.

“Get down from there, spider-kid”, Tony scoffed, but there was a smile appearing on his lips. He stood up from his seat by the counter and went to grab themselves some napkins and soda to accompany the pizza. “How’s the leg?”

“It’s healed already”, Peter reminded him, hopping down onto the floor with a flip, as if to legitimize his words. “I only use the cast for show, Mr. Stark. Even if you’re rich, people would still find it weird if my leg got better in like a week”, he pointed out, lifting the lid of the pizza box and humming loudly in content. “Nice! No fruits this time”, he commented, remembering with dread the day Tony had ordered fruit into their pizza just to see Peter’s reaction.

“Of course, you’re a baby”, Tony pointed out, placing two cups in front of them and a large bottle of soda. “I was just asking because you were limping a lot today. You’re a really good actor, kid”, he smirked. Peter removed his Spider-Man mask and set it on the counter, before climbing onto his chair.

“Yeah, walking around in that thing isn’t what I’d call easy”, he shrugged, grabbing himself a bite of pepperoni pizza and humming loudly again. “So?”, he asked, even though his mouth was full, raising an eyebrow at Tony and going straight to the point. “You’re gonna tell me what you said to Flash and his friends?”

“Wowie, you really don’t know how to wait, do you?”, Tony returned the eyebrow raise, grabbing a slice for himself and sitting in front of Peter. “Fine. I told him that if he kept nagging at you, I would buy the shares back from his dad’s friend and let him know precisely _why_ I did that”, Tony shrugged as if that was nothing.

“Mr. Staaaark”, Peter groaned in dismay, shaking his head and letting it fall back before straightening himself on his chair again. “Why did you do that for? You didn’t have to”, he complained.

“Of course I had to, Pete”, Tony gave Peter a more serious look, as if to indicate that he wasn’t joking around. Peter was beginning to notice that most times Mr. Stark called him ‘Pete’ was because he was getting serious at something. “Happy told me what that kid and his friends say to you. About your parents, and all that”, he offered vaguely, as if he didn’t want to dive too deep into that particular subject. Peter’s face still fell at the mention, and he shrunk a little into himself, lowering his eyes. Tony, noticing this, sighed and shook his head slightly. “Look. Everyone gets bullied at some point, ok? It helps build character. But what those kids were doing to you – the things they were saying to you – that’s a whole other level. That’s not some spoiled-brat-like sort of intimidation. That’s downright cruel. And I’m not going to let you go through that”.

Peter looked up at Mr. Stark with emotion in his eyes, eyes that were so alike Tony’s, so expressive and sincere. No matter how hard either of them tried to hide their feelings behind a façade, one look into their eyes was enough to see the truth behind their hearts.

“I know you wouldn’t like anyone meddling with this. It’s your business”, Tony shrugged simply, taking another bite of his pizza. “But I also know you don’t tell May about it, and it was about time someone did something”.

“It’s not that big of a deal”, Peter muttered, not meeting Mr. Stark’s eyes.

“Peter”, Tony said seriously, and ok, the use of his full name _definitely_ meant he was being serious. Peter looked up at him with apprehension and anticipation in his eyes. “It _is_ that big of a deal. Just because your parents died, it doesn’t mean you don’t have any value. And _no one_ should make you feel like you’re valueless. Especially after everything you went through”.

Peter swallowed dry and lowered his head again, feeling awkward. He never spoke about his parents to anyone. Not to Ned, not to Aunt May, not to Mr. Stark. That was his business. _His_ subject. His parents. The only thing that he felt that he still retained from his old life, the only thing that would never change, no matter what happened. Because he may have become someone else, he may have changed from a nerd loser to a super-powered hero, everything in his life may have taken a completely different turn, but his parents were still dead, they were still _gone_ , and nothing that ever happened to him would change that.

“Listen”, Mr. Stark sighed, putting his half-eaten slice of pizza down and sighing heavily. He rubbed at his temples and ran a hand across his tired face, looking uncomfortable but decided. “I know you don’t like to talk about this. I’m not a fan of discussing emotions aloud, either. It’s _hard_ for me. But, after everything that happened between us because we didn’t talk about this touchy-feely kind of stuff… I don’t want to leave anything unsaid anymore. Just to be safe”, he shrugged. Peter eyed him carefully and, after a few moments of ponderation, the billionaire shrugged again. “I have no idea how you’re feeling”, was what Tony ended up saying, so sincerely and blatantly that Peter couldn’t help but to let out an equally sincere laugh at the words.

“Yeah, ok”, he chuckled.

“I mean it, kid”, he admitted. “I _had_ parents. They _sucked_. My dad was abusive, my mom was an alcoholic, I was raised by a _butler_ ”, he nodded sharply. “They were never there for me, but they were… _there_. They weren’t gone. And, because they weren’t gone, I can’t tell you I know how you feel, because that would be a lie”, he concluded. Peter pursed his lips, but nodded his comprehension. Mr. Stark was right. “But what I can tell you is that your parents don’t get to define who you are”, he continued.

Peter looked up at Mr. Stark with a frown on his face, a mixture of emotions coursing through his heart. Mr. Stark sighed heavily again, looked away, tapped his fingers rhythmically on the counter, bit his lower lip and shook his head before deciding to continue, looking so incredibly uncomfortable that Peter was almost telling him to just drop that subject and go back to eating pizza and teasing him.

“God, I hate this”, Mr. Stark sighed, closing his eyes for a moment and sighing again before looking back at Peter, looking like he was forcing the words out. “Ok. Look. For most of my life, there was nothing I wanted more that my old man’s approval”, he began, and Peter could tell, he could _tell_ just how uncomfortable Mr. Stark was. Even though he didn’t want him to go through that, it also gave him a weird sense of comfort to know that he wasn’t the only one who didn’t like to talk about his parents. It made him feel accepted, even though Mr. Stark’s reasons and his own were completely different. “I’d do all sorts of things to call his attention. I built my first bot when I was four, for fuck’s sake”, he breathed heavily, and Peter politely pretended not to notice the way Mr. Stark’s eyes seemed to be suspiciously glistening under the white light of the kitchen. After swallowing dry for a moment, Tony recomposed himself. “Ugh, don’t repeat that”, he commented, earning another chuckle from Peter. “So, yeah. He would hardly ever look at my direction, let alone acknowledge anything I did. I never even got a ‘congratulations, son’. A pat on the back. A _nod_. Anything”, he scoffed, bitter.

“Mr. Stark”, Peter tried to say, aching to let Tony know that he didn’t have to continue if the subject left him so shaken up. However, Tony raised a finger at him, interrupting him before he could even begin.

“Ok – kid? This will be easier if you don’t interrupt me”, he raised his eyebrows at Peter. “What I’m saying is – the person I was, for a long time, the person I became, was a person who lived in function of Howard. Everything I did, even the way I thought, was shaped in a way I thought would please him. And when I realized that, no matter what I did, I couldn’t get his attention, I decided that it _didn’t matter_ what I did”, he scoffed, a hint of self-deprecation in his tone. “I decided to give into the picture of a rich playboy. I decided to do whatever I wanted. I decided not to _care_. And it took me a long time to realize that the more I tried to distance myself from him, the more I became like him”.

He lowered his head for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he was struggling with a headache. Peter waited silently, not daring to interrupt him again, even if he urged to comfort the man.

“Like I told you, I’m trying to break the cycle of shame”, Tony continued, repeating the words he had said back at that day with the ferry, the first time Peter saw Mac Gargan, the time Tony took away his suit. “Ever since what happened in Afghanistan…”, he sighed again. “I don’t want to be that person anymore. I met a man, there. Ho Yinsen. He told me not to waste my life. And then he died so that I could escape”, he added, not looking at Peter, as if he was ashamed. For some reason, Peter could tell that Tony hadn’t spoken about Yinsen to anyone before. “I thought that was the reason I became Iron Man, at first. To give some meaning to his sacrifice. To live up to his dying words. To make my life _matter_. And I couldn’t do any of that if I kept trying to copy Howard”.

A long silence fell upon the kitchen. Peter didn’t dare to break it.

“After New York, everything changed. You know what happened, so I’m not going into details”, he added, and Peter nodded his comprehension. Even though he didn’t know _exactly_ what had happened, he knew that Tony had almost died to save the city from a nuke, and that it had left a mark on the billionaire. Peter had overheard mentions of PTSD and anxiety in past conversations, but he never directly asked Tony about it, and Tony never mentioned it. He decided now was not the best time to pry. “But I was losing it, until I met Harley. And I actually thought I’d had broken the mold with the kid, but then… Ultron happened”, he shrugged. “What I’m trying to say is – I’ve been trying to be better for a long time now. But it seems that, no matter what I do, I always go back to square one. I break the cycle, then it gets mended back together and I’m stuck at it again”.

There was another pregnant pause.

“But then _you_ happened”, Tony added, and Peter couldn’t help but to feel his eyes widen a little. Tony smirked affectionately at the reaction. “And honestly, kid, I’m not trying to be sappy or anything, but you were the one who finally made me see that I didn’t _want_ to be like Howard. Before, I used to think that I just _couldn’t_ be like him. And then, when this whole thing happened”, he gestured at the empty space between himself and Peter, and Peter knew exactly what he was talking about. He shivered. “I was afraid I’d failed you. I was afraid I’d gone back to square one. I was afraid I’d _lost_ you”, he lowered his head, a stern look on his face as he shook it. “And my first reaction was to do what I do best. Shut you out”.

Peter looked away, not wanting Tony to see the tears that were welling up in his eyes. He hadn’t expected this conversation – or this evening – to get so emotional. He hadn’t expected Mr. Stark to talk about that subject ever again, if he was being honest. And despite of everything Tony had told him, even in the past days; after everything he had heard and all the reassurances he had received; after everything that Tony had done for him – he still couldn’t help but to feel like he didn’t deserve it.

"So when I tell you not to let your parents shape you, this is what I mean", Tony continued, looking at Peter. "Don't think about how you'd be a different person if they hadn't died, because you shouldn't depend on them, or anyone, to be who you are, Pete. I'm not saying it's not horrible that you had to grow up without them, but…", he trailed off, shrugging. "You still turned out amazing, kid".

“It was my fault Uncle Ben died”, Peter ended up blurting out, before he knew better. He looked up at Tony at this, expecting to find surprise or disappointment in his mentor’s eyes, but all he found was patience accompanied by a slight hint of curiosity. If Tony had been so honest, despite of how clearly hard it was for him; if Tony had told him secrets that he hadn’t shared with anyone else, why couldn’t Peter do the same? “I – I had just gained these powers and I didn’t really know w-what to do with them. I –“, he hesitated, anxious. This was an event horizon, and maybe Tony would end up hating him after he was done, like he feared Aunt May would. Tony sensed his hesitation, his fear, and grabbed his pizza again, as if to give Peter some sense of normalcy.

“It’s ok, kid”, he reassured in that nonchalant tone of his. “No judgements here”.

Peter took a deep breath and lowered his head, feeling his hands shake a little. It took him a few seconds to muster the courage to continue.

“I asked him to take me to the library to study, but instead I – I went to t-this fight club, I didn’t really know what I was doing t-there, I just figured we were so broke I could help May and Ben in some way, now that I had p-powers”, he stuttered, nervous. “Then by the end of it the guy refused to p-pay me, and I got so angry”, he shook his head, tears heavier in his eyes. Peter refused to let them roll down. “I was so angry, that when this man showed up and robbed him, I – I didn’t do anything. I could have stopped him, but I didn’t, and – and when he went out, he needed a car to escape, and he – he s-shot Uncle B-B-Ben and I could have stopped him b-but I didn’t and t-t-there was so much b-blood –“, he hiccupped, desperately trying to hold back his sobs and failing. Once the first tear rolled down his cheek, Peter broke down, and Tony wasted no time. Throwing the remains of his pizza on the counter, the billionaire hopped off his chair and went around the furniture separating them, pulling Peter into a tight hug and pressing the boy’s face against his chest.

Peter sobbed freely then, clinging to the front of Mr. Stark’s shirt and not having the heart to feel embarrassed for it. After everything that had happened between them, the freezer, and the roof, the fieldtrip, the things Mr. Stark had just told him… It didn’t feel right to be embarrassed by it. Mr. Stark ran his fingers through Peter’s hair in the way he knew the boy loved, as an attempt to soothe him down.

An eternity seemed to pass until Peter stopped sobbing, but when he tentatively tried to break their awkward hug, Mr. Stark held him in place, fingers never ceasing their ministrations on Peter’s hair.

“I know it’s no use telling you none of what you just told me is your fault”, Tony said after a while. “But, if it helps, we all make mistakes, kid. I have done things of which I’m not proud, either. I have done things that got people killed”, he sighed. Peter vaguely remembered, for some reason, that Mr. Stark used to be called _Merchant of Death_ by the media. “The best you can do is lift your chin up and try to move on, even if moving on is not always possible”.

Peter buried his head on Mr. Stark’s shoulder, fearful to meet his eyes.

“I don’t think you are to blame for your uncle’s death, by the way”, he added after a while. “And I think you are an amazing kid, despite of the mistakes you may have committed in the past. A reckless, impulsive, _brilliant_ kid”. A pregnant pause, almost as if Mr. Stark was bracing himself. “You’re _my_ kid, Pete. I may not be your real dad, I may not be able to take up the empty space he’s left on your life, but I care for you as if you’re my own”, he added.

Peter started sobbing like a baby again, clinging even harder to Mr. Stark.

“Geez, kid”, he chuckled, caressing Peter’s hair more gently. He shook his head with affection. “I used to be like this when I was young”, he commented, remembering the way he used to cry over anything as a child. Howard would always beat him when he sobbed too hard – _Stark men are made of iron_ –, until Tony decided to quit on crying altogether.

Peter half-sobbed, half-laughed, amused by the mental image of a young Mr. Stark sobbing. It was so unimaginable it was comical. He tried to break away from the hug again and, this time, Mr. Stark let him, releasing Peter from his grasp but staying where he was, as if to show Peter that he meant his words. Peter rubbed the ball of his hands on his moist cheeks, wiping the tears away from his flushed face and looking up at Mr. Stark. He felt undeniably lighter now that he had revealed his guilt for someone, and even lighter because Mr. Stark had not judged him for it. There was gratitude in his eyes as he looked up at Mr. Stark, and affection in Mr. Stark’s eyes as he looked down at Peter.

“T-Thank you, Mr. Stark”, he said with sincerity, still wiping his tears away.

“You don’t have to thank me, kid”, Mr. Stark tapped his shoulders before returning to his chair in front of Peter and grabbing himself another slice. “Ugh, it’s gone cold”.

“Sorry”, Peter said, despite of himself. Tony rolled his eyes and sighed while he chewed the cold pizza.

“Ok, let’s make something clear”, he said, pointing a finger at Peter and speaking with his mouthful. “Stop with the guilt complex or people will think we’re actually related. Happy and Rhodes already give me enough shit about it”.

“Sorry”, Peter responded on instinct, lowering his eyes before realizing what he was doing.

“What did I just tell you, kid?”, he squinted his eyes at Peter, indignation written on his face. Peter waved his hands frantically, feeling embarrassed.

“Sorry! Sorry for saying sorry so much”, he ended up blurting out, making Tony roll his eyes so hard they closed for an instant.

“God, you’re helpless”, he scoffed, but there was a smirk blossoming on his lips. “But anyway, kid. I’m glad we’ve gotten over all of this, ok? Also”, he added, sounding a bit more serious. “Don’t tell your friend Betty about the real reason behind Iron Man”, he said simply, naturally. However, Peter could tell what he really meant without him having to say it aloud. _Don’t tell anyone about the secrets I just shared with you. Don’t betray my trust. Don’t take advantage of my vulnerability._ “Wouldn’t want to have my tragic testimony broadcasted all over Midtown Tech by tomorrow”, he jested. Peter chuckled.

“Of course I won’t tell, Mr. Stark”, he reassured him, giving Tony a nod that indicated he understood the truth behind Tony’s veiled words. _I won’t betray you. You can trust me_.

“Good”, Tony nodded simply, wearing that face he always did whenever he was done talking about emotions. “Now eat your pizza before it gets even colder”.

“Can’t we just heat it up in the oven?”, Peter asked tentatively, even if he had grabbed himself a slice and bit it.

“What, can’t handle a little cold pizza?”, Tony teased him, rolling his eyes. “Honestly, kid. And they say I’m the spoiled billionaire”.

“Hey! It was just a suggestion!”, Peter protested. “You were the one who told me to eat it before it got colder!”

They entered a playful banter after that, the both of them feeling lighter from the heavy, buried feelings they had gotten out of their chests and from the brand-new relationship they seemed to have founded, that allowed hugs, tears, and love, even if they didn’t say the three words aloud. To Peter, it felt as if everything he had gone through with Mr. Stark before had been a trial test, a beta version of what they would come to be. And yeah, maybe Mr. Stark was right – maybe he would never be able to make up for the loss of his parents, or for the emptiness and longing that their deaths had left in his life. But to know that Tony was willing to try, and, most of all, that Tony wanted to be there for him like a father would – that was already better than anything Peter could have ever hoped for. On the top of all that, the knowledge that he was also filling up a place in Tony’s life; to know that Tony also saw him as a son – that only made the love he had felt for Mr. Stark ever since he was a little kid grow bigger and bigger, so strong that Peter could barely hold it in his chest. They had gone through hell to finally sort something so simple out, but now that they had, Peter felt like the emptiness in his chest – the one that had overwhelmed him ever since Gargan – finally had a chance of disappearing. It had been replaced by hope, by love, by acceptance. It had been replaced by something he had lacked ever since he was a kid, ever since he was taken as a baby to his Aunt’s house, never to return home, ever since he lost his parents.

It had been replaced by Mr. Stark. And that was more than enough for Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: I know, I know, I KNOW. This took forever and I'm so sorry for making you guys wait for so long. So here goes an explanation:  
> When I first came up with the idea for Brave as a Noun and posted the first chapter, I had just participated on a selective process for an internship. I honestly didn't expect anything to come out of it, since I have no experience whatsoever and the company is like, one of the biggest ones in Brazil. But guess who got selected, huh? I started to work in July, and with university, I started having less and less time to write. Whenever I did have time, I struggled with a bit of writer's block because guess who sucks at writing endings??? Me. Which brings me to my second point:  
> YES, this turned out long as fuck. My original plan was to split this into chapter 12 and epilogue, but it didn't feel… natural, you know? To just split it up like that. So here you go, a giant final chapter with a lot of emotional roller coasters and FINALLY some closure for iron dad and spider son. I hope you all like this, thank you for putting up with my punctuation outside the quotation marks, my messy update schedules and my long-ass paragraphs. You guys are the best, and this writer would be nothing without her readers!  
> I'll see you next time!  
> (Also please give me feedback I LOVE reading your comments)  
> (Also also, don't think about Peter asking Tony who Harley is and getting ridiculously jealous)


End file.
